


Writing His Own Happy Ending

by LightningStriking



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: All the Smut, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Author loves to chat in the Comments, Barebacking, Big Steve, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Is A Human Disaster, But Sam Is A Good Bro, But not exactly, Consensual Sex, Darcy Knows All, Dom Bucky Barnes, Drunk Texting, Editor Steve, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, Happy Ending, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Praise Kink, Pumpkin Spice Lattes, Role Playing, Sam Is So Done With Steve's Nonsense, Sam is a Little Shit, Smut As A Seduction Technique, Steve Is A Meatball, Stucky - Freeform, Sub Steve Rogers, Switching, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Unorthodox Seduction, Unsolicited Dick Pic, Writer Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 22:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStriking/pseuds/LightningStriking
Summary: Bucky Barnes is a writer.  A gay erotic fiction writer to be precise.  With a successful career, a questionably functioning computer, and an addiction to watching cat videos while eating Chinese food.  Steve Rogers is an editor.  Of many things, not least of all, Bucky Barnes gay erotic fiction.  A working relationship that was working just fine for both parties.  Until, after years of communicating purely via e-mail, the two men meet in person.  And Bucky quickly realizes that Steve not only has a fantastic eye for detail, he's got a smile that could melt any heart, and a body any one of Bucky's fictional heroes would die to touch.  A sentiment Bucky shares.  So how does Bucky begin his immediate campaign to win his way into Steve's bed, and his heart?  By playing to his strengths.In other words, by writing a new series of sex filled stories staring a muscle bound blond and a seductively enticing brunet.  Any resemblance to actual persons purely intentional.  If editing Bucky's steamy stories hadn't given Steve all sorts of inappropriate fantasies before, it certainly does now...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluebobbins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebobbins/gifts).



> Hello my lovely readers! This story in progress is a gift to the wonderful bluebobbins, my incredible beta. As a result, this story has no beta, so let us all do our best to pretend my inevitable mistakes are part of the story's charm ^_^ Thank you bluebobbins for providing such a fun prompt to work with, and I hope I do it justice!  
> Tags will be added as I continue the story, but be assured before long this fic will earn it's Explicit rating XD

“Shit!” Giving his keyboard a testy slap, Bucky immediately rolled his eyes at himself before huffing out a sigh of annoyance as he backspaced the jumble of letters he'd added to his word document. The document didn't need another letter added to it, jumbled or otherwise. What it needed, was to be e-mailed off to his editor. Now. Technically, three hours prior from now, but definitely not a minute past now since those three hours had come and gone. Bucky was late again, but he knew his editor, who had been faithfully editing his work for years now, wouldn't hold it against him. However, Bucky’s publisher was not nearly so understanding to the fits of writers block, distraction thanks to the gratuitous amount of cat videos on the internet, or the fine balance of lighting, music, Chinese food and Gatorade that fueled his late night writing binges. Natasha only cared about deadlines. Meeting them, specifically. Whereas Bucky would say he had more of an “on again, off again” relationship with deadlines.

            It's not that he didn't _try_ to meet them. But hell, when one was approaching, and a fantastic idea emerged that just had to be integrated to the story he'd already written, what was more important - getting out work on time, or getting out a product that was the absolute best he could provide? Natasha leaned towards the first option. However, Bucky's wildly successful erotic stories were her biggest seller, so more often than not, she put up with the second. But only just. And not without the routine lectures delivered in a lethal voice that frankly terrified Bucky more than any crazy prompt from fans, even including the ones that begged for tentacles. With the last “recommendation to change his ways” still striking fear in his heart, and prompting nightmares where the gorgeous redhead murdered him in his sleep without so much as chipping a nail, failure was a prospect he could _not_ accept.

            Yet failure, with all the sweaty dread and anxiety at the prospect of imminent death that inspired, was staring him in the face. With one tiny little symbol in the corner of his computer screen. The one that was telling him in no uncertain terms, he had no internet connection. A minor inconvenience at the best of times. Certainly a first world problem, in every _other_ case. But in this case, his computer’s stubborn refusal to connect to the web, despite every last one of Bucky's attempts, might very well be the one case where death was the ultimate result.

            “Perfect,” Bucky muttered, yanking at his already wild hair with frantic hands. “I'll be posthumously famous as the only person to die due to crappy Wi-Fi.” Granted, whoever wrote said article wouldn't be able to do it from here – Bucky’s house was clearly a Bermuda triangle for technology. He needed help, and he needed it now. Loath to call Natasha, and confess to his current situation, considering for it to be valid in her eyes it ought to have occurred three hours and now seventeen minutes ago, his already on-edge mind took longer than was reasonably to realize he needed an intermediary. Someone who could help, and who wouldn't immediately start plotting his demise.

            Pouncing on his cell phone with all the desperation of a man grabbing at a rope as he dangled off a cliff, he noted with bitter resignation that his cell had full Wi-Fi, because of fucking course it did, while he dialed the number that might well be his salvation.

            “Darcy! I need your help!” Bucky practically shouted the second she answered her phone with a cheerful hello.

            “To finally divest you of your tragic homosexuality? I knew my time would come,” she replied with relish, and despite the intense anxiety coursing through him, he had to let out a laugh, though it was more than a little hysterical.

            “No, that is not why I'm calling-”

            “Well damn it, Barnes, it should be. I'm hot, you're hot, we could make a new generation of dark haired hot people. Think it over.”

            “Right. But, for the moment, I need you to get me the contact information for my editor. Specifically his phone number.”

            Abandoning her never ending quest to get Bucky to see he was wasting himself on gayness when bi or even pan-sexuality would open whole new horizons for him, Natasha's assistant Darcy sat up with interest. “Oh? And why is that, oh mighty writer? Don't tell me you're late for another deadline. Last time I saw Natasha, she _might_ have been sharpening a dagger.”

            A resulting noise of acute frustration, and what might have been Bucky literally pulling his hair out. Which was a damn shame, since his long artfully messy locks were nearly as fabulous as her own. Shoving away the thought before she could start daydreaming about their hypothetical future fabulous haired offspring once again, she arched a brow. The creative types were certainly prone to their dramatics, but she'd never heard Bucky this distraught in her many years as a mediator between him and Natasha. “What's going on Barnes? Use your words,” she coaxed encouragingly.

            “It's my damn internet. The connection is down, and I can't get it back up.”

            “Did you try turning it off and turning it back on?” she questioned. Darcy pulled the phone away from her ear with a wince at the noise that prompted, this time akin to that of a wounded bear. “Alright, alright I was just asking.”

            “Of course I turned it off and turned it back on,” Bucky bit out in an aggrieved tone. “Both the computer, and the router. Nothing is working. And I don't have time to have the internet people send someone out because I need to send this _now_.” When his voice pitched, hitting near hysteric, she made a sympathetic noise. Soothe the writer, she remembered from her training. Do her best to keep the writer from pitching himself out a window in a pit of despair - that would _really_ delay the deadline. Not that any of the many creative, and occasionally crazy, writers who Natasha represented had threatened to yet. But Bucky sounded like a man on the edge.

            “Okay, so why don't you just take your laptop to Starbucks or something and connect to their internet? You can send your story from there. Presto, problem solved,” she offered rationally. When dead air met her statement, Darcy raised an eyebrow. She'd never before realized silence over a phone could actually _sound_ sullen, until this precise moment. And she had to admit she was a little impressed. That took skill.

            “I'm guessing that's a hard pass from you,” she mused when Bucky maintained his sullen silence. A huffed out sigh that was both aggrieved and embarrassed confirmed it.

            “I can't,” he finally muttered. And oh, she just knew this phone call was going in the file for holiday office party anecdotal material.

            “Why's that Buckaroo? Agoraphobic? Two broken legs that can't take the stairs? A strong political aversion to Starbucks? If it's the last one, you're going to have to get over it because three words mi amigo - pumpkin spice lattes. They are literally heaven in your mouth, I'm telling you.”

            Another small laugh, this one less hysterical, though more depressed than the last. “No. I uh, actually work on a desktop computer.”

            The words were so unexpected, Darcy actually had to pause to absorb the statement. “Wow. I didn't know those still existed,” she breathed.

            “Shuddup. Can you help me or not?” Bucky demanded, mingled shame and annoyance making his tone sharp. So what if he still used the computer complete with tower he'd built back in his high school days? It still worked, didn't it?? Aside from the internet connection obviously... and the malfunctioning printer. Not to mention the screen that unexpectedly went black from time to time. And the speakers that didn't work anymore. But none of that was the point! The point was, the only way he could get this story to his editor was to get in contact with him, and set up a meeting so he could literally hand the man the story on a compact disk.

            Thank goodness he'd recently upgraded his hardware from just a floppy disk drive. He could only imagine the new levels of humiliation that would have involved. Unfortunately, as he listened to Darcy's helpless giggles, he lamented the fact he didn't already have his editor's direct contact info. However, the need had never before arisen, so he could almost forgive himself the lack of foresight that was now making him the unwilling source of Darcy's amusement. Almost.

            When he'd found a publisher in Natasha, she'd insisted she use the editing company she swore by, a business known for their prompt service, attention to detail, and most of all their professionalism - a bonus when the material they were reviewing was hardcore gay fiction. Bucky was well aware his writing subject of choice was open to at best, mild amusement, at the worst, unvarnished scorn. But hey, Bucky knew his strengths, and if one just happened to be writing incredibly sexy homoerotic fiction, who was he to deny his calling? Still, he'd been unsure how the whole editing process would go.

            Bucky had been pleasantly surprised to discover it was relatively painless. The e-mails he sent with his stories attached went to straight to the company, who then dispersed it to his specific editor. The editor then sent back the edited file via a group e-mail account, complete with notes, corrections and suggestions. A process that worked seamlessly, but left Bucky with nothing more concrete than the fact his editor was named Steve - no last name provided - who had an excellent eye for detail, and a fantastically dry sense of humor given the notes he'd taken to leaving in the margins over the years he'd been correction Bucky's work.

            Normally the anonymity was not an issue, but now Bucky realized it left him with no way to reach his editor directly other than sending an e-mail via his phone and waiting for it to be received and responded to. Hence why he was still listening to Darcy rhapsodizing about how cute it was Bucky was attempting to preserve dying technology, and how it only confirmed his suspected hipster status, especially since he often rocked a man bun and a killer collection of scarves.

            “Darcy!” he cut in, when the clock ticked over to three hours and twenty three minutes. “Can you get me his direct line or not?”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes as she turned back to her computer, fingers flying until she pulled up the relevant information, reciting it to Bucky who made a sound of such indecent relief it could have featured in an audiobook version of one of his stories. “You owe me.”

            “I'll buy you a pumpkin spice latte,” he promised, gratitude in every fiber of his being. Then he promptly hung up with a scowl when she immediately responded with a “Buy yourself a damn laptop, hipster Bucky!” There went the gratitude.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers, thank you so much for taking the time to read this story, I've been completely blown away by the positive response it has received so far! As a result, I have chapter two out quicker than I expected. Enjoy!

“Thank you for calling Carter Press, this is-”

            “Steve!” Blinking at the voice that managed to convey both manic desperation and overwhelming intensity with just his name alone, Steve turned to look at Sam, who cocked an eyebrow in curiosity and leaned back in his desk chair, watching the show in comfort, more than ready to be entertained on a Monday morning.

            “Yes, this is Steve. How can I help you?” he replied cautiously.

            “Thank God, I've been going crazy. Steve, I need you. I mean, I need to see you. Immediately.” At this, Steve's eyes widened, before he cast them heavenward and sighed. Lovely. A prank call. No stranger to them, though granted this was the first time he'd received one at work, he knew better than to engage the person on the other end of the line, who from the sounds of it might be more than just a little crazy. No matter how amused Sam looked, a wide grin spreading across his handsome face as he listened in. Clearly crazy guy projected, very well.

            “Listen buddy, I think you have the wrong number-”

            “Bucky,” the voice interjected again. Sounding slightly less crazy. Not enough to allay Steve's concerns about the mental stability of said stranger, but enough for Steve to note in a distracted sort of way, lunatic or not, the guy did have a nice voice. Realizing his thoughts were drifting, Steve frowned, pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

            “What?” he questioned, then immediately regretted it. Don't engage the prank caller, simply hang up. How many times had he repeated this mantra to himself? Yet, sadly, he was never able to follow through. Hanging up on someone, lunatic or not, was just rude.

            “Steve, it's Bucky.”

            “Bucky?” he repeated in shock this time. “You mean as in-”

            “JB Barnes, the writer whose work you turn from a car wreck into the finely edited masterpieces that make my publisher enough money to put up with my insanity? Yeah, that one.” At this, Sam's eyes had grown as wide as Steve's, his fellow editor and best friend more than familiar with the writer's work. And more specifically how Steve had a completely embarrassing obsession with the man's work.

            Christ, the man could write, and had left Steve in a state at his desk more than once, all of his impartial competence thrown out the window. Not that he didn't still do a damn good job editing the man's stories, because after all, Steve was a professional. But there were more moments spent staring at his computer screen, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed over as he was lost in the fantasies Bucky weaved so skillfully, until Sam threw a paperclip his way and jolted him out of it, than Steve was willing to admit.

            So okay, he might be a total fanboy of Bucky's work. And he might get an indecent amount of pleasure knowing he was always the first person to see the man's fantastic writing. And just _maybe_ he enjoyed the snarky comments the men had taken to leaving each other in the columns more than was appropriate. But the point was, Steve got the work done, he did it well, and on time. So any daydreaming he did courtesy of Bucky's steamy stories just proved he excelled at multitasking. Right?

            But crap. Now he had that voice, which had calmed down enough that there was no trace of panic in it, just a slightly raspy tenor that was pure sexiness, in his head. Would now be able to hear it as he read the eloquently filthy words Bucky put together so masterfully. Steve knew a _lot_ more paperclips would be thrown his way.

            Such as the one that smacked the side of his face with impressive accuracy, startling Steve enough to realize he'd been silently sitting there like an idiot. Closing his eyes to block out Sam's expression, knowing the amusement there would be completely at Steve's expense, Steve cleared his throat. “Um. Hi. Bucky, how are you?”

            “In the middle of a technology crisis. Of _course_ , right as I'm trying to send my stuff to you, my internet goes out, and if I get this to you any later than it already is, Natasha is straight up going to murder me.”

            Having interacted with the lethal redhead several times himself, Steve suddenly understood the prior hysteria in Bucky's voice a bit better. Steve certainly wouldn't want to risk the wrath of the woman, who gave the impression of knowing eighty seven ways to murder a man, all without breaking a sweat. But if the only problem here was a lack of internet connection - “Why don't you just take your computer to a coffee shop or something and use their Wi-Fi?”

            Steve was impressed to discover he could actually _hear_ the man pout via the silence that met his suggestion. And damn if that didn't make him grin foolishly despite himself. Okay, so he found the idea of the prolific, incredible writer pouting adorable. Which possibly took his fanboy status into dangerous territory. But since only Sam was paying attention, witnessing the stupid look on his face, that was probably okay.

            Finally Bucky huffed out an aggrieved breath before he replied, completely evading Steve's solution. “Listen, the point is I have the story saved on a CD, and if you tell me somewhere I can meet you, I will get it to you immediately.”

            “Oh! Um, well,” Steve began, brain going blank at so abruptly being presented with the opportunity to actually _meet_ his smutty literary hero.

            “I looked up your company, you're located in lower Manhattan, right? I Google mapped it and there's a Starbucks right around the corner. Although I don't know why I ever bothered, there's a Starbucks everywhere, I swear they're trying to take over the world, one spicy hot pumpkin whatever at a time. Anyways, why don't we meet there, and I'll buy you a coffee for the trouble. Say, twenty minutes?”

            “Uh, yeah, that sounds good,” Steve managed, wondering where all of his mastery of the English language had gone. Clearly, his lifelong skill had abandoned him entirely.

            “Awesome. See you there. Oh, I'll be in a red shirt. Bye!”

            Hearing the dial tone in his ear, Steve finally put down the receiver. Before turning to stare at Sam wordlessly. Who clearly was not suffering from the same problem.

            “Holy shit. I'm totally coming with you and watching from a distance like the creeper I am. There's no way I'm missing you meeting the man who is solely responsible for making everyone who works here realize you are gay, due to your complete obsession on this dude's work. This is going to be awesome.”

            Steve just groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Steve! Yay Sam! Yay for the meeting happening next! As always, if you've enjoyed what you've read, I adore hearing from you XD


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, the meeting! I hope you enjoy, lovely readers. ^_^

“So you're really going to follow me to meet him? I'm literally just picking up a disk,” Steve asked as Sam tossed aside his trusty red editing pen with far too much enthusiasm. Enthusiasm that Steve knew full well spelled his own embarrassment was at hand, which provided a never ending source of entertainment for Sam. He'd have to hate the man if he wasn't his best friend.

            “Dude. Of course I am. You're meeting the guy who's work you've been mooning over for years. I'm totally following you, because that's what a real friend would do.”

            “I don't think it's going to be that exciting,” Steve tried for optimism. Maybe he wouldn't make a fool of himself, although thirty years of anecdotal proof suggested otherwise.

            The look of disbelief Sam shot him as they pushed out the front door of the office building spoke volumes. “Steve. You almost passed out from excitement when you finally saw the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile in real life.”

            Steve scowled, shoved his hands in his pockets. “That was a long time ago,” he muttered, to Sam's shout of laughter.

            “Steve. That was three years ago. You were driving and almost killed the _both_ of us.”

            Okay. So maybe Sam had a point. But really, all he had proven was that for Steve's own sake, Steve needed no witnesses to what was surely going to be a metaphorical car crash.

            Blinking when he realized they were already at the door of Starbucks, Steve sucked in a breath. Alright, he could do this. Meeting his literary idol was no big deal. He was just grabbing the story, and leaving. Nothing to freak out over. After all, he was a _professional_. He totally had this.

            Pep talk sufficient to have him tugging the handle, and walking in like a man who wasn't afraid to enter a Starbucks, Steve let the momentum carry him inside. He took a quick glance around. And felt his courage instantly evaporate, as Sam let out a whistle. “Sweet baby Jesus,” Sam declared, eyes clearly locked on the one guy wearing a red shirt. The same man Steve's eyes would have been drinking in regardless of clothing choice. Oh dear lord.  

            Staring at the literal vision of perfection standing several feet away, who was busy frowning at the menu of numerous options taking up half the wall, Steve could only assume Bucky - because of _course_ this guy was Bucky - had to base all the heroes of his stories off of himself. Because damn. He was incredible. Perhaps a bare inch shy of Steve's own height, muscles strained the seams of the red Henley he was rocking over tight black jeans that practically whimpered at being stretched over thighs Steve just knew were going to star in every fantasy he had for the rest of his life. Yet all of that was nothing compared to his face. Breathtaking was the only word Steve's dazzled mind could come up with, and Christ, it was appropriate. Pale eyes a shade somewhere between blue and gray, a jawline worth writing sonnets about, and that mouth... Just looking at it was quite possibly the most pleasurable experience of Steve's life to date.

            Whirling around violently, Steve's eyes were wild as he hissed at Sam. “Okay, that's it. Time to go.”

            “Wait, what?” Sam demanded, tearing his own eyes away from the guy who could make the most hetero of men question just how committed to straightness they might really be. “You're going to, what, stand him up? Like a bad blind date? Don't be crazy!”

            “I'm not being crazy. I'm being smart. There is no way I can talk to that guy. It was bad enough when it was just my favorite writer of all times. But when it's also someone who looks like... that-” they both paused to glance at Bucky once more, who was now looking at his watch then the door, an expression nearing concern moving over those features which had sent Steve's world orbiting off its axis. The second look was more than enough to convince Steve if he didn't want to embarrass himself for life, he needed to leave. And _now_.

            Yet before he could make good his escape, Sam slapped a hand on his chest, halting his retreat. “Pull it together Rogers. Yes, he may be like, the ideal male specimen who may or may not be giving me an inferiority complex right now, but I doubt he's going to bite. Although if he draws on real life experience to write his stories, maybe he will,” Sam mused. Before watching the way Steve's eyes glazed over, Sam rushed on before he lost his friend altogether. “Just go over there, introduce yourself. Pretend you're an actual functioning adult for three minutes.”

            Steve scowled, smacking the restraining hand away. “No,” he replied, with the height of maturity. To which Sam immediately frowned back, smacking Steve's hand in return.

            “Don't make me go all Denzel from American Gangster on your white boy ass.” Which of course, being the totally non-functioning adult he was, Steve was left with no choice but to smack Sam's hand again. Which, _of course_ led to two grown men who were clearly not adults in the slightest engaging in the hand smacking fight usually carried out by teenage girls at McDonald’s at 1:30 in the morning for inexplicable reasons.

            “Stop...it!” Steve bit out between slaps, flinching back from the hands flying far too close to his face for comfort.

            “Steve, this is for your own good!” Sam exclaimed, ducking as he nearly got smacked upside the head, about ready to put his best friend in a headlock, when they both froze at the sound of a throat clearing. Turning as one to see none other than Bucky himself standing there, looking torn between concern and sheer amusement.

            “Uh, sorry for interrupting. But, ah, are you Steve? Editor Steve?”

            Realizing they were both standing there with hands lifted like a cat fight video on pause, both men quickly dropped them, Sam smiling without shame, Steve flushing miserably as he cleared his own throat.

            “Yeah. Um, yes. Bucky?”

            “Last I checked. I know it's none of my business but, uh, are you guys okay?” Steve's flush turned several shades brighter. Sam's grin grew several sizes wider.

            “Fine, fine. Everything is fine. Sam here was just leaving,” Steve announced, several decibels too loud if the expression of surprise on Bucky's face was any indication. Granted, that could also have been due to Steve simultaneously palming Sam's face, and forcibly shoving his friend several feet away. Who laughed like a maniac the entire time, but relented enough to let Steve's momentum carry him to the door. Which he exited, to Steve's intense relief. Sadly though, it was a very short lived relief, when Sam proceeded to stand outside the window and stare in, grinning like a complete lunatic.

            After a few silent moments of taking in this sight, Bucky and Steve as one turned back to look at one another, Bucky's expression vaguely shocked, Steve's sheepish. Then Bucky broke into a wide grin that left Steve feeling more dazzled and dazed than ever. “So, buy you a coffee? I hear these pumpkin whatever drinks are supposed to be good.”

            “Oh. Um, you really don't have to do that-” Steve began, yet it was a useless objection seeing as how Bucky was already striding purposefully towards the line. Deciding not to argue, and mentally swearing it had nothing to do with how the sight of Bucky from behind, specifically the sight of his ass in those jeans, left him speechless, Steve trailed after him.

            “Please, I insist. Least I could do with you going out of your way to meet me. Seriously, I really appreciate it,” Bucky replied with another brilliant smile at Steve before giving the order to the barista, while Steve simply tried to re-master the mechanics of breathing. He managed to get a good enough handle on it that by the time they were stepping aside to wait for their drinks to be made, he could reply.

            “Really, it's no big deal. Like you said, it was right around the corner.” Steve considered it a personal victory when those gorgeous eyes focused on him again, those lips curling sweetly as though they were sharing a joke only the two of them knew, and Steve didn't pass out altogether. Way better than the Wienermobile, he thought vaguely.

            “Trust me, it is. If I had submitted this any later, I'm pretty sure Natasha would have put out a hit on me.”

            At that, Steve couldn't hold back a laugh. He'd had countless dealings with the publisher himself, and concluded Bucky might not be far off the mark. There was certainly a reason Steve never turned in his edited work late to her, aside from professional pride and personal standards. “Well in that case, I'm glad we could get together and avoid your imminent death.” He flushed once more when Bucky's gaze seemed to warm further, eyes sweeping over Steve's features before he replied.

            “You and me both. Really though, I know I'm always pushing the deadlines. So I'm truly grateful for how flexible you've been. You're incredible to work with Steve. I'm really glad to meet you finally, have a face to the name.” Before Steve could force his brain to formulate an appropriate response, rather than focusing on completely inappropriate thoughts of how he'd like to demonstrate to Bucky just how flexible he could be, Buck was turning to grab their cups when his name was called, and shoved one into Steve's limp hand.

            “So, I dunno if you've had one of these but I have it on good authority they're supposed to be like crack or whatever,” Bucky imparted with a shrug. Then, closing his eyes, Bucky lifted his cup, took a cautious sip. Before moaning almost imperceptibly, a slight shudder running through that insanely attractive body. Finally he lifted frankly unfairly thick lashes to meet Steve's gaze, who was staring back with lips parted, eyes wide at the positively sinful look of pleasure on Bucky's face. “Damn it,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “Darcy was right. Now I'll never hear the end of it.”

            Steve quickly took a sip from his own cup, for no reason other than to prevent his mouth from spilling out words of worship that would creep anyone out. Then had to admit Bucky was right. It was pretty damn good.

            “Oh, speaking of-” Bucky reached into his back pocket and pulled out a clear jewel case holding a CD. “Better not forget the reason I actually dragged you out here.”

            Taking it, Steve smiled, some part of him calming when confronted with that which he absolutely knew he could handle, as opposed to all those other things he was less successful at. Social situations - skills questionable. Meeting literary heroes - he was tragically abysmal. Talking coherently with gorgeous men - his abilities were bleak at best. But editing - that was the one thing Steve knew he excelled at. “Thanks. I'd better get started on this, so Natasha isn't out for my blood too,” he replied, proud that he managed one grin free of blushing. He appreciated even more the way Bucky returned it.

            “Well Steve, thanks again. I hope you... _enjoy_ it,” Bucky replied, that ever so slightly rough voice caressing the word in ways that gave Steve all sorts of wrong thoughts, certain Bucky didn't intend the innuendo the way Steve's mind enthusiastically insisted he did. Blush back in full force, Steve managed to stammer out a goodbye. He swung away towards the door, and narrowly avoided plowing straight into it when Sam helpfully opened it for him from the outside. Steve missed the speculative stare Bucky gave him as he made his retreat, too busy trying not to melt from the residual effect of being in Bucky's presence. Dear. God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Steve. Poor poor Steve. I hope you liked this newest chapter. If you did, as always, I'd adore to hear from you! All your support has certainly encouraged me to write quicker than expected, particularly since I've been rather sick lately. You're the best :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had intended this as just the first part of Chapter 4, then decided it was better as a stand alone, as short as it is. I hope you enjoy! A million thank you to 70secretkinks for always being around to discuss Stucky any time day or night.
> 
> Also, Malen'kiy Pauk, at least according to Google translate, means little spider in Russian. :)

“Thank you for calling Malen'kiy Pauk Publishing. This is-”

            “What the fresh hell, Darcy?!” Bucky exclaimed, once again not even waiting for her to get her professionally cheerful greeting out of the way.

            “Let me guess,” she deadpanned, inspecting her nails casually. “You met Steve.”

            “Damn right I did! Why did you never _tell_ me?” he demanded, his tone suggesting she'd committed the most heinous of crimes, right up there with hating puppies and sunshine, in no uncertain terms. To most, the infraction might be unclear, without specific charges being leveled. However, not only did Darcy know Bucky in basically every way short of intimately - to her everlasting disappointment - due to the number of times he'd contacted her to save his ass from Natalia's death stares, she also knew Steve. And therefore knew precisely why Bucky was so outraged.

            “Come _on_ ,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “You know I'm trying to stop you from just playing for the home team. At the very least, encourage you to play an away game every so often. I knew if you saw Steve Of The Amazing Ass, I, and all woman kind, would be out of luck forever.”

            And just like that, Bucky's eyes glazed over. Fuck, Steve did have an amazing ass, one he'd admired shamelessly as the blond had walked away. Amazing, just like every other part of him Bucky had witnessed, taking in all Steve's tall, muscle-bound, golden haired, blue eyed, sexy mouthed splendor. If only Bucky had _known_ who he'd been talking to all this time... He sure as hell would have invented a technology malfunction years sooner, that's for sure.

            If he'd known Steve of the dry wit and funny quips had also been Steve of mouthwatering pecs and a shoulder to waist ratio to weep tears of rapture over... In a preoccupied haze, Bucky had made his way home, every thought occupied by how sweet, and slightly shy, and fucking _gorgeous_ Steve had been, recalling the precise shade of that adorable blush that had stolen over his face more than once. Bucky wondered just how far down that incredible body it extended. It was only as Bucky drank the last equally delicious sip of his drink that his thoughts organized themselves enough to realized someone else _had_ known. And held out.

            “Well, you're not wrong about that,” Bucky acknowledged at last. He was fairly certain he'd been ruined for the rest of the entire human race for all time. Now that he had witnessed the physical embodiment of both everything he'd ever wanted, and everything he'd ever tried to translate in the characters he created, the truth was obvious. He could never want anyone else, as quickly or as all-consuming as he wanted Steve, within moments of laying eyes upon the man. Now all that was left to do was win him.

            Failure was not only not an option, but a thought Bucky didn't even entertain. Whatever it took, he wanted Steve for his own. His own to kiss, his own to touch. His own to slowly undress from the professional attire Steve had worn that made him look like a freaking ad for sexy. And even more, his own to make smile, to make blush, to prompt laughter out of with his ridiculously good, but admittedly sometimes just ridiculous stories.

            Inspiration striking at the thought, Bucky almost missed Darcy's windy sigh. “It's official. All the beautiful men are gay and I'll be forever alone. Comforting myself with smutty books and a fluffy, cute, yet inappropriately large collection of cats.”

            “I can recommend some good cat videos to get you going,” Bucky offered, grinning at her snort of laughter before he quickly said his goodbyes and hung up. Yes, Bucky was good for cat videos. But even more, he was good for smutty stories. And if currently that was his only legitimate means of contact with Steve, then by God, he'd do all he could to write his way into Steve's heart. Or at the very least, his pants - for starters. Steve did not yet know it, but he was about the undergo a seduction campaign. One Bucky had no intention of losing.

            Hitting the speed dial on his phone as he moved to his computer and began the lengthy process of booting it up, Bucky grinned at the familiar “Ni hao!” that greeted him. Chinese food was definitely in order. He had some writing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwah ha ha ha... Bucky has Plans. Stay tuned to read exactly what he has to say. As always, if you are enjoying this story, I LOVE to hear from you. Thank you so much lovely readers for all of your support, it truly inspires me. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, did someone promise smutty content? I think I might have... Ah, yes, I did! And at long last, we have it! *bless you, lovely readers, for your patience* I hope you enjoy this chapter, where Bucky enacts his sexy sexy plot to woe one Steve Rogers. We shall see how lucky he is ;)

Sitting down at his desk, Steve happily took a sip of his coffee. He _might_ have been drinking a pumpkin spiced latte every day since meeting Bucky. But that didn't mean the two events were related. Or that with each delicious sip of seasonal delightfulness, he was remembering with perfect recollection the curve of Bucky's gorgeous lips as he smiled so warmly at Steve. He definitely wasn't recalling like a love sick idiot the way Bucky had absently tucked the long strands of hair behind his ear that had fallen from a sexily messy bun.   Or how Steve had immediately wanted to see Bucky's hair loose with a burning passion, the better to bury his own hands in it. Nope. Definitely not.

            It said a lot about their friendship that Steve hadn't voiced a single one of these fervent denials out loud, but Sam had seen straight through him regardless. “Dude. Rather than sighing like a teenage girl over your coffee, why don't you just call the guy? Ask him out?” Steve _might_ had dropped his face to his desk, sputtered out protests that he didn't want to go out with Bucky. Protests neither one of them believed. Particularly when Steve hadn't been able to resist programing the number Bucky had called from that fateful day into his own phone.

Not that he would ever use it, certain that would take him into more intense creeper levels than even Sam could ever aspire to reach. Still, having it made Steve foolishly happy in a way he couldn't begin to express, a flutter running through him each time he scrolled through his contacts and saw Bucky's name. Alright, so perhaps Sam was dead on about Steve being as bad as a teenage girl. But finally, to try and stem the daily teasing, because while Steve might privately acknowledge how bad he had it doesn't mean he wanted to _admit_ it out loud, he bought Sam his own pumpkin spice latte. Who had taken a long, speculative drink. Raised a brow. And grudgingly admitted “Alright, maybe your boy knew what he was talking about. This is good shit.”

            So at the very least the loving mocking had stopped. The private daily “Lets List All The Reasons Bucky Barnes is The Epitome of Perfection” sessions however, were going at strong as ever. It was as good a past time as any, when Steve tried not to feel even more pathetic each time a new e-mail story came in to his work computer, and he suffered the inevitable feeling of disappointment when it wasn't Bucky's. True, Bucky didn't have a deadline for several more weeks, when the last work he'd given to Steve was the ending of a book in his wildly popular series. Still, a man could dream. Clearly, given the marathon daydreams Steve had engaged in lately, each one starring a certain brunet. Good thing Steve excelled at multitasking.

            Bringing up his e-mail, Steve's heart nearly stopped when he saw the message coming in from one JB Barnes. Opening it with an enthusiasm he couldn't even try to feel embarrassed about, he bit his lip as he read the beginning note from Bucky.

            _Hey Steve, thanks again for meeting with me last week. Turns out it was productive in more way then one, when the outing left me inspired for a new series. Hope you enjoy it. B._

            And, oh, Steve's mind was insisting once again that that single word, “enjoy” was laden with innuendo. A flush rose in Steve's face at the idea Bucky wanted Steve to appreciate his gorgeously graphic and undeniable romantic erotic stories the way his huge fan base unquestionable did. Clearing his throat uselessly, Steve quickly started skimming through the story, not even trying to catch all the missing apostrophes in his first read through - because bless his heart, Bucky seemed to not even know they existed - taking a sip of his drink to calm himself down. Before his eyes widened, his heart literally stopped beating, and Steve sprayed pumpkin spice all over his desk.

            “Hey man. You okay?” Sam questioned, glancing up from his own work with concern on his face, as Steve, redder than ever, heart now tripping triple time in his chest, tried to mop up the mess he'd made.

            “Hot,” Steve finally managed to gasp out, and at that Sam rolled his eyes, a friendly smile on his face.

            “Steve, how many times you gonna burn yourself before you learn? Gotta let it cool down first!”

            “Right,” Steve muttered, even as he contemplated how this was one item that would continue to singe him with a painless heat no matter how long he let it sit. Waiting until Sam was engrossed back in his own work, Steve take a steadying breath. Began to read again. And held back the whimper rising in his throat, but only just barely. Dear. God.

  

 _Racing through Nazi territory, Stephen stayed low, keeping his steps silent. Each one bought him closer to danger, and yet closer to Lucky. Avoiding the patrols moving through the trees with an ease that left him more on edge than ever, Stephen marveled at the changes that had overtaken him. In his time since the transformation, he'd been labeled Captain America. Been called a hero, dressed in a costume, and paraded across the country. As though he deserved the attention. As though he'd earned it. Yet now, racing past yet one more guard, so swiftly and silently the enemy didn't even notice, he understood_ this _was who he was meant to be. Not a symbol that represented something, yet stood for nothing. But simply Stephen Dodgers, a man, doing all that he could to save everyone he could. Most important of all, his oldest friend, and the man he'd loved his entire life, Lucky Farnes._

_Making his way into the factory that loomed out of the trees like a construct of hell, made of concrete and horrors, he incapacitated guard after guard, feeling no remorse as he dispatched them silently and efficiently, his newly enhanced body making it easier than even breathing used to be. Stumbling upon the cells where countless prisoners were being held, Americans and allies crammed together, he quickly set them free, heart threatening to break once more when his eyes failed to find the one face he would move mountains to see. Yet just as he had not accepted it when the military had pronounced Lucky dead, he again could not allow the idea that Lucky might indeed be lost to him forever, their chance to be together ended in the most cruel, final of ways, enter his thoughts. After releasing the prisoners, he made his way deeper into the bowels of the factory, pulse racing not from exertion, but from fear of what he'd find, and more, what he might never find._

_Yet his heart, this newly perfected heart, stopped altogether when he heard the delirious mumblings from a room he approached, rushed in to see Lucky, his Lucky, lying strapped to a table. His gorgeous face was bruised, his body covered in dirt and blood, his condition appalling. And he was the most beautiful thing Stephen had ever seen. “Oh God, Lucky,” Stephen spoke, seeing those gorgeous eyes that had stared blankly overhead turn with a visible effort. Struggle to focus on Stephen's face. Before the most luminous smile spread over his features, as though he were staring into heaven itself. “Stephen?” he questioned, voice hoarse. Wasting no time, Stephen effortlessly snapped the restrains holding Lucky to the table, then hauled the man to his feet, and more importantly into Stephen's arms._

_“I thought I'd lost you,” Stephen whispered into the skin of Lucky's neck, holding up the man's weight while Lucky still struggled to find his feet, and the clarity of mind of realize this wasn't just one more wishful fantasy as he prayed for death. Stephen was here, he'd come. And while the size of the man was confusing, perhaps just another hallucination side effect of the poison he'd been pumped full of, Lucky knew the scent of the man, beneath the sweat and the dirt. No hallucination could replicate that smell. And he knew he was being saved by the boy he'd always loved, never had the courage to tell, and then feared he never would have the opportunity to again._

_Pulling back despite it being the last thing he wanted, when Lucky's skin was heaven beneath his lips, Stephen clasped Lucky by the back of the neck. “We need to get going-” he began, the sounds of shouts and firing echoing down the empty corridor. Clearly, the prisoners has run into opposition, though it sounded like they were causing as much chaos as possible. Good._

_Yet all calculations about how to get them out, minimizing the risk of Lucky being caught in the cross hairs, flew from his mind, when those lips he'd drawn in secret a thousand times over again were pressed against his own. Brain reeling, he blinked wide, deep blue eyes in shock when Lucky pulled back just enough to share air. “Fuck, I thought I'd never get the chance to do that. And I hated myself for wasting all the years when I wanted to but never did.”_

_“Luck... does that mean... do you-” Stephen stuttered, a flush rising in his face._

_“I love you Stephen. I always have.”_

_And God, in that moment nothing else mattered. Not the explosions rocking the factory, literally shaking the ground beneath their feet. Not the physical transformations that had overtaken Stephen's body, turning himself into a stranger he hardly recognized. Not the wounds that left Lucky swaying on his feet. All that mattered was the fire racing through Stephen, pure pleasure at hearing those words, and the heat burning through his veins at feeling the body he'd always longed for pressed against his own._

_“I love you too Luck. So fucking much.” Almost before he could get the words out, Lucky's mouth was back upon his own. And the entire world ceased to exist._

_Groaning at that mouth, red and sculpted and moving so wickedly against his own, Stephen clung to Lucky to keep his own balance when those lips parted enough to lick straight into Stephen's mouth. Jesus yes, more, his mind pleaded, as his hands dropped to grip narrow hips, lashes fluttering when Lucky immediately arched against him, and just that quickly he was introduced to the heaven that was Lucky's cock rubbing against his own._

_His head fell back with a gasp when Lucky's lips left his own in favor of tracing along his jaw line, tongue flicking out to taste the skin of Stephen's neck. The sound of blissful satisfaction Lucky made had Stephen's knees giving out altogether. Yet just that quickly, Lucky backed Stephen into a wall, letting the blond lean against it, freeing up his own hands to move. And to touch. Absolutely everywhere._

_Gliding hands that only steadied the longer they were on Stephen's body up and over those pecs that were practically begging to be touched, down the abdomen that even through the layers of clothing Stephen wore were clearly rock hard, Lucky moaned in concert with Stephen when his hands at last glided over the truly impressive erection straining at his pants. Jesus, Stephen was perfect. And while Lucky had enough presence of mind to recognize he couldn't undress and take apart the blond the way he was dying to do, he knew he had to possess the blond in some way. More than he even needed to breath._

_“Stephen,” he bit out between sucking kisses, and sharp little nips of his teeth of Stephen's neck. Delighted how each graze of teeth only made Stephen whimper more. “Please, let me,” he begged, his voice a rough, dark seduction that Stephen had no desire to deny._

_“Anything,” Stephen swore, biting his lip when the word prompted a harder bite on the sensitive juncture where neck met shoulder, body shuddering at the acute pleasure the edge of pain gave him. He had no idea what Lucky was asking for, but didn't care. Only knew he never wanted the other man to stop, the stroke of that strong hand, palming him through the rough military pants an exquisite sensation unequaled by anything else he had ever known. Then swore aloud when he felt those achingly soft lips smile against his skin, before Lucky quickly dropped to his knees, and with impatient hands tore open the front of Stephen's pants._

_Before Stephen could do more than jerk his hips in helpless reaction to the amazing feel of rough hands grasping his cock, he was quickly overwhelmed by the glory of Lucky's mouth engulfing the head, tongue caressing the flared head, savoring the bittersweet taste of pre-come. Eyes clenched tightly shut, Stephen was certain he was experiencing heaven. He knew the sight of Lucky sinking his mouth over the aching length of his dick would push him to the edge of his rapidly unraveling control. Yet when he'd fantasized a thousand nights about this very thing, how could he possibly miss a moment of it?_

_Forcing open eyes heavy with lust, Stephen panted as he looked down. And cursed. The look of both carnal satisfaction, and yet adoring love shining in those eyes - it undid him. Time and again, Lucky fucked his mouth over Stephen's cock, choking slightly when the broad tip nudged his throat. Yet he refused to back of, working until he could swallow down the entire length, staring up at Stephen all the while. Body trembling, Stephen buried his hand in Lucky's hair, tugged in warning when any words at all were beyond him. Yet at the unmistakable signal, Lucky's lashes fluttered closed at last, pure ecstasy on his face, throat working around Stephen, and it was the complete adoring surrender in that moment that rocketed Stephen into release. His shout of rapture was so intense, the detonations of the factory around them no were competition for the explosions of love and lust and a never ending need occurring between them. At last, at_ last _, there was no question, no hesitation. The two men belonged to each other in every way. And it was only the beginning._

            “Hey, Steve, wanna go grab some lunch from the deli?”

            Jolting violently, Steve tried to cover it with a cough, and a hand running through his hair. He glanced over to see Sam standing by his desk, face easy, no hint in his expression that he was aware Steve was a moment away from coming at his God damned desk. No, standing up right now, or any time in the next ten minutes, was certainly not in the cards.

            Minimizing his screen with a faked casualness he was certain Sam would see right through, Steve cleared his throat. He prayed the flush he could feel burning beneath his skin could be attributed to the temperature of the office. Cause people totally got overheated in a crisply cool sixty eight degree office, right? Whatever.

            “Um, I actually brought something today. Next time.”

            “Alright. More cookies for me,” Sam replied with a shrug and a wave. He was perfectly aware of Steve acting strange, but since there was nothing new about that, it really wasn't strange at all. Mind already on the epic chocolate chip cookies the deli had, as well as the cute girl that worked Thursdays, Sam rounded the corner before Steve deemed it safe enough to pull up the e-mail again.

            Sweet Jesus. Steve was not one to jump to conclusions. Couldn't even fathom the idea that someone as talented and funny and freaking sexy as Bucky could be the slightest bit interested in a meatball like Steve. And yet... Stephen Dodgers? Lucky Barnes? Both characters matching Steve's and Bucky's own physical descriptions to a T. Steve couldn't begin to presume just what that might mean. Couldn't believe the suggestion that Bucky himself might find Steve as desirable as Lucky clearly found Stephen.

            Giving up trying to work out the implications when his brain threatened to just give out altogether, Steve sat back with a sigh. Then winced at the painful tightness of his pants, compliments of the erotic story. Before he rolled his eyes up at the heavens and reflected that Bucky hadn't been wrong about one things - Steve sure as hell had enjoyed it. Sitting forward with a slight groan, he pulled up his editing program. Knowing that this time, more than any other, his job would be particularly hard. Which seemed apt, since so was Steve. So fucking hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Bucky just create a Captain America story AU, inside of a Captain America AU? Heck yes he did, complete with all the love and smut the Marvel universe has as of yet denied us. And this is only the beginning! Mwah ha ha. As always, if you are enjoying this cheesy bonanza, I'd just love to hear from you. All your comments have had me writing with speed!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's been a week since I've posted... Life has been crazy! But fear not, I have not forgotten these two cheese balls. Let the ridiculous tale of love continue!

Watching the kitten with wide, rapt eyes, Bucky cheered him on. “Come on, you can do it!” he chanted, forking up more rice. Perhaps it made him a sucker, but Bucky preferred to think of it as being the eternal optimist. No matter how many times the kittens of the internet failed to catch the red dot, they kept trying. Just like no matter how many times Bucky watched them fail, he kept watching, believing that one day, they would succeed.

            Munching happily on his Chinese food, he watched the adorable ball of fluff tumble head over tail as it fell off the couch, quickly bounding back on its feet like it had intended to do that the whole time. Legitimately, the cutest thing ever, he mused, shaking his head as he wondered why they had yet to develop Oscar awards for internet cat videos. Clearly, that needed to be a thing. He should talk to Darcy about it. She shared a mutual appreciation for fuzzy animal cuteness, and more importantly, she knew people. If anyone could get this going, it was Darcy.

            Unabashedly clicking on the link for Kitten Plays With Yarn, Bucky shoved another forkful of deliciousness in his mouth. Then flailed violently enough to send rice flying everywhere like edible confetti at the ring of his cell phone. Cursing, he looked down at the food which now decorated his shirt, as well as every other surface in a five foot radius, more upset over the loss of his dinner than the intensive cleanup that was now in his future. Bucky picked up his phone, and felt his annoyance evaporate into sweaty fear.

            Thinking of the video that had started tonight's YouTube cat video binge that was comparable to what an alcoholic would indulge in when they found themselves locked in a liquor store, he rapidly contemplated the mechanics of hiding under his own couch, and pretending he didn't have opposable thumbs to answer his phone. But alas, Bucky wasn't a kitten, wouldn't fit under his couch, and while he could ignore the call, he knew that would only to lead to more pain in the end.

            Clearing his throat, Bucky went for what he prayed was a winning, sunny voice, all while wondering what he'd done wrong now. “Natasha! How are you?”

            “James Buchanan Barnes.” It was amazing really, the fear the small female managed to strike in his heart with her tone alone. He could practically feel the noose of death tightening around his throat. Not an unusual sensation in his dealings with Natasha. But then again, he wasn't currently behind on a deadline. In fact, he had not missed a single one since he'd started writing the adventures of Captain America and his trusty sidekick Lucky.

            Turns out his seduction campaign didn't just have a positive effect on his love life (although, truth be told, he had yet to achieve what any other logical individual would term measurable success but again, eternal optimist) but also provided the inspiration he needed to quit missing deadlines. Apparently all he'd required these many years was the incentive of an inhumanly gorgeous blond as a captive audience to encourage his most prolific writing ever. All good things, but it left him unable to launch a preemptive offense when he wasn't sure what he was defending himself against.

            “Uh... yes?”

            “Are you or are you not currently using your position as my writer to try and seduce the best damn editor my company employs?” Crap. There it was. The one thing Bucky _hadn't_ considered when he'd decided to use his considerable way with words to try and woo the man he just knew was the love of his life. And to get the best sex he'd ever had - once they got around to that, of course. Praying now he could use that same talent with the English language to hopefully save his own life, he floundered for an answer.

            With his extensive verbal expertise and boundless eloquence, he came up with, “Uh... yes.” Hm. Clearly not his best work.

            Bucky could hear the heavy sigh through the phone line, practically see Natasha pinching the bridge of her nose. He responded with his own despondent sigh. “You want me to stop, don't you?”

            “Are you kidding me?” Natasha demanded sharply. Bucky blinked. “This is the best stuff you've ever written. As long as your inability to just ask someone out on a date like a normal, functioning adult continues to make us both plenty of money, keep at it. But please, don't ever, _ever_ start writing about what you two actually get up to once you start getting it on with Rogers. There are some images I don't need in my head.”

            Blinking again, this time at the unmistakable click of Natasha hanging up, Bucky stared at the cell phone still in his hand before carefully brushing a space on his desk clean of rice, then setting the phone down. As far as inspiration pep talks went, even the most generous of souls likely wouldn't have called that particularly motivational. However, Bucky was too busy basking in the fact Natasha clearly thought his unorthodox tactics would actually net him the guy of his dreams to care.

            It was true, his series of Captain America works had received a reaction unparalleled by any of his other stories. His readers were desperate for more of the strapping, heroic Stephen, and the wise cracking yet sensitive Lucky. And while Bucky was a true writer in the sense he appreciated and felt validated by accolades for his work, for once he could honestly say, the only opinion good or bad he cared about was Steve's. After sending his first scene off to Steve, Bucky had waited impatiently for a response. He was about as big a fan of patience as he was of subtlety - in other words, not at all. And when at last the response came, it had made him grin with wicked delight. The scene had been edited to perfection, as always. The only comment? _An exploding Nazi factory seems like an unwise location for such activities. Hopefully they find a safer location next time._

            God this guy was perfect. Adorable. Funny. And yet potentially as much of a meatball as Bucky. Bucky understood subtext well, it being just one of the tools of his trade, and was certain he was reading the nuances of Steve's response correctly. Steve was too shy to directly acknowledge the fact Bucky was shamelessly hitting on him by writing their literary doppelgangers doing all sort of exquisitely filthy things to one another. Just imagining the blush that had surely spread across the blond's handsome face at his illicit words had Bucky happily staring off in the distance. Yet the precisely phrased reply expressed a desire for more, just as clearly as it indicated Steve assumed nothing. Which only meant one thing - Bucky would have to step up his campaign.

            And oh, had he. Writing about Cap's return to the military base with his lover, not to mention the hundreds of men he'd saved in tow. Describing their first night together, in which Stephen had worked over Lucky in all the ways both men had always dreamed of. In other words, the ways Bucky desperately hoped one day every part of him would be touched by Steve, fingers claiming each inch of skin that would know no other touch ever again. Which perhaps was too much, too fast. But hell, Bucky didn't write in love at first sight time and again because he _didn't_ believe in it. No, Bucky was certain such a thing existed. And Bucky knew without a doubt, he at last - at wonderful, incredible, amazing last - had experienced it himself. He knew, finally, why nothing had ever worked out for him before. He'd simply been waiting for Steve.

            Steve, who he'd spoken to for years. He’d come to develop a relationship with the man that while professional, somehow had felt like more. The honest words of praise Steve had given him, the snarky comments he had no problem dishing out - they had only served to make Bucky admire the man who could appreciate Bucky's work, and was incredible at his own. Bucky simply hadn't realized what that relationship was building up to, until he'd met Steve. Until he’d seen the man who starred in every fantasy, written about or private, from that instant forth. _Yes_ , everything in him had whispered. Of course Steve was the one. Now all he had to do was get Steve on board.

            With this is mind, Bucky quickly pulled up his word program, distracted at last from the cat videos as inspiration for the next installment swirled in his mind. It was amazing how often two men in the thick of a brutal, bloody war could find moments to slip away, when prompted by the proper motivation. Such as sweet kisses and screaming orgasms. Wicked grin tugging at his lips, Bucky quickly brushed the rice off his keyboard, uncaring how it sprinkled over his lap and fuzzy socks. Who had time for cleaning when he had one Steve Rogers to seduce?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwah ha ha ha. Bucky is one determined guy. Thank goodness. Next, look forward to correspondences outside of e-mail. And perhaps, a more candid version of how Steve is taking all this! As always, if you've enjoyed what you've read I'd be delighted to hear from you XD


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two whole weeks since I've updated?? That is a travesty. Sorry for the wait, my lovely readers. However life has been rough as of late. Fortunately this is a nice long chapter, full of all the smut. Special thanks to 70SecretKinks for editing my mess. Enjoy ^_^

_Standing inside the tent, hand rubbing over his jaw, feeling the scrape of a face that hadn't met a razor for days, Stephen reflected on how the hell he'd gotten here. Physically. Metaphorically. In every way possible._

_He'd had Lucky back in his life for three weeks. And as wrong as it felt to say it, considering they were three weeks full of death and blood and never ending violence, they were unquestionably the three most incredible weeks of his life. To share them with Lucky in a way they'd never shared their time, their feelings, themselves with each other before. He was free to love Lucky as loud as he wanted. And amazingly,_ incredibly _, Lucky loved him the same way. It was a gift he never once conceived could be his. Yet since hauling Lucky out of that factory once their senses had returned, Stephen had barely spent a moment apart from his oldest friend, and the love of his life. And when he turned to meet that stormy gray blue gaze, always hesitant, fearing that perhaps he'd imagined it all, there it was - the love shining in those eyes, so unshakable Stephen wondered how he hadn't seen it before._

            _Yet despite the miracle of those feelings at last being spoken out loud, so much was the same. The easy camaraderie between them, the joking and shit talk, the easy way Lucky would swing his arm around Stephen's shoulders - though he now had to reach a lot higher to do so - it felt just the way it always had. At first Stephen had been surprised by the very “sameness” of the sensation, until he realized, of course things felt the same. After all, he'd loved Lucky his whole life, hadn't he? And if Lucky really felt the same - they were both exactly who they'd always been. It was amazing._

_That is, except for the moments when it wasn't. Because while the other men in the small, rag tag yet damn incredible team Stephen had formed to take on the highest risk missions listened to him with a respect bordering on reverence at times, something that both baffled and frankly embarrassed him when his title “Captain” wasn't something he'd earned, Lucky had no such inclination. He’d given Stephen the same amount of grief he always had, while simultaneously trusting that Stephen could handle anything. The way, Stephen comprehended in a moment of clarity, Lucky always had, no matter how big or small Stephen had been. It was almost a relief to have someone treat him normally, and yet, there were times the other men’s deference came in handy. For example, when entering a particularly hostile region of enemy territory, where Stephen had very specific ideas of how they should proceed._

_Of course, of_ course _Lucky had had his own equally specific ideas. And some very specific_ _four_ _letter word assessments of Stephen's plan. Which granted, had basically consisted of Stephen attracting the enemy's fire, while the other men slipped through to destroy the supply bunker. And really, why Stephen had been surprised by Lucky eventually conceding verbally to Stephen's plan, before proceeding to do exactly as he damn well pleased, Stephen had no idea. You'd think Stephen would have learned by now. But, clearly he hadn't._

_As a result, Lucky himself had drawn the fire away from the other men, most specifically away from Stephen. And nearly gotten his incredibly sexy ass killed in the process. Stephen was furious._

_Enough so that the trek back to camp hadn't been a particularly lively one. Stephen seethed in rage, while Lucky shrugged with an unconcerned indifference that only infuriated Stephen more. The second they were back, the other men had peeled off, Dum Dum shouting as though the louder he got the more he could cover the awkwardness, that man he could use a cup of coffee and a shower. Morita, more composed but no less direct, had rolled his eyes, stated he wanted nothing to do with their lover's quarrel, and to try not to keep the camp awake all night with their shouting. Stephen had flushed. Lucky has smirked, perfectly aware their nighttime activities had earned them more than a few eyebrow wiggles and friendly elbow nudges at breakfast before, and damn proud of it._

_So here they stood, in the tent Colonel Phillips had issued them the second he'd seen them straggle back into camp with the rest of the survivors, arms firmly around each other's waists. Something Stephen had appreciated for no other reason than nothing could have forced him to keep his hands off of Lucky after that explosive encounter in the factory, but for the sake of the men, it was better if they had a little privacy while he learned every gorgeous inch of his best friend's body. Now however, he was glad there would be no witnesses to the fury he wanted to unleash on Lucky. Lucky, who looked far too calm to be fair. Standing there, staring at Stephen with an unreadable expression. Well, Stephen would change that. Starting now._

            _“What the_ hell _were you thinking Lucky?” Stephen demanded. It seemed as good a place to start as any. Stephen felt his glower of fury melt into a frown of confusion when Lucky snapped to attention. Stance military straight, eyes forward._

_“Just ensuring the safety of my superior officer, sir,” Lucky replied. Those smoky eyes glanced at Stephen for the quickest of moments before shifting forward once more. Shaking his head to clear it from the immediate, and visceral tightening of his body in a way that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the sound of Lucky's husky voice caressing the word “Sir”, Stephen cleared his throat. Continued with his rant._

_“That was completely unacceptable Lucky. We had a plan, a sound one, and your unwillingness to stick to it could have resulted in someone being hurt, or dying.” In Lucky dying. God, even the thought of it had Stephen's throat clenching._

_Until he saw Lucky slowly lick those sculpted lips, eyes lowering deferentially. “I submitted myself for disciplinary action... Captain.” And with that, Stephen's throat closed off altogether. Jesus, Lucky had never once used the title, but hearing it now, Stephen was immediately flooded with fantasies of Lucky screaming it._

_“Um... what?” Stephen managed to get out. He nearly groaned when Lucky bit at his bottom lip, leaving it even redder than before._

_“I failed to listen to a direct order. Aren't you going to punish me?” Lucky questioned, and despite the difference in their heights now being a bare few inches, he managed to look up at Stephen through his thick lashes. The look on his face was both seductively submissive, and predatorily primal all at once. And okay, yes. So much yes. Stephen could get on board with this. Because here, just them two, anything Lucky wanted, Stephen was desperate to give him._

_It was a shock, each and every time that Lucky would stare at him with eyes darkened to black, the normal grayish blue pushed aside by the lust in his eyes, matched only by the love in his gaze. Stephen, who had done nothing more than dream of this, of everything with Lucky, had been uncertain,_ _unsure that he could possibly satisfy Lucky the way the barest touch from Luck pleasured him. Yet, with each reverent press of his lips to Lucky's skin, with each delicate skim or bruising grasp of his hands on Lucky's body, Stephen was assured of his welcome. The moans and gasps, curses and bit out pleas, all in that husky voice that pushed him to the edge of his control, told him exactly what he needed to know when it came to drowning Lucky in all the pleasure the gorgeous brunet could take. So that it was no longer a matter of worrying he'd be good enough to pleasure Lucky, but if he could be strong enough to resist drowning himself in the man every moment of the day._

_This, though. What he thought Lucky was asking for, with his submissive stance, and smoldering gaze daring Stephen to rise to the challenge, this was brand new. But as it had always been, and Stephen knew would always be, he'd do anything Lucky wanted. The decision had him square his shoulders, stunned expression firming into one of stern authority._

_“Sergeant. You intentionally disobeyed a direct order.” His voice, which had always been too deep, too much for the small frame genetics had granted him, for the first time felt_ right _. Resonating in the chest that now only struggled to draw breath when Lucky was pressed against him. The tone was not quite harsh, but certainly implacable. Watching the way the color in Lucky's eyes disappeared altogether, noting the way Lucky's breath caught, Stephen smiled internally. Yet he maintained the serious expression. He couldn't break now, not when they'd only just started._

_“Yes, Sir,” Lucky breathed, his voice tighter, no challenge in him now. The tension draining from his body signaling his complete surrender. And fuck, that undid Stephen._

_“As your commanding officer-” and Christ, what a lie, Lucky had never listened to a command Stephen had ever given, but it appeared that he certainly would now. Stephen was more desperate to test it with each second. “-it is my responsibility to dispense disciplinary action.”_

_“Yes, Sir,” Lucky managed, and fuck, it was practically a whimper. The time for action had come._

_“You are to take off all your clothes. You will lie down on your bunk. And then you will not move until I give you permission.” When Lucky stared up at him, mouth parting slightly as his eyes glazed over in dazzled acceptance, Stephen raised a brow. “Is that clear, Sergeant?”_

            _This time, Lucky simply swallowed, and nodded, before hands began to tug at the clothes he'd donned after the hasty shower he and the rest of the team had been granted on their return. Hasty, because not only was the water rationed, it was too damn cold for anyone with half a mind for their own comfort to linger. Yet as he pulled each garment off with hands that trembled - Stephen quickly looked back at Lucky's face, and felt his own body tighten at the visual assurance that Lucky wasn't shaking with uncertainty or hesitation, but pure, naked need - he revealed skin beautifully flushed. Cold was no longer a concept Lucky's body could understand when he was burning, and all for Stephen._

_“Perfect,” Stephen breathed when at last Lucky had stripped the last of his clothes away, only his dog-tags hanging against the gorgeous expanse of his chest, an enticement Stephen could never resist. Snagging the metal warm from the living flame of Lucky's body, Stephen tugged him close before Lucky could follow the next order. Because while he may lay down the rules, following them was never something Stephen had excelled at._

_Not that Lucky seemed to mind, a moan of gratification tearing from his throat when Stephen pulled until he was forced flush against Stephen's front, his bare form pressed against the rough fabric of Stephen's army issue garments a delicious eroticism that had them both jolting. Then Stephen's free hand was buried in Lucky's still damp hair, tugging just the right side of painful, tilting Lucky's face up, all the better to claim that intoxicating mouth for his own. In an instant, Lucky had gone from a flame to an inferno, hungrily stroking Stephen's tongue with his own, before nipping sharply at Stephen's plush bottom lip._

_Stephen swore, though it was less a word than a sound of burning lust as his own control wavered on the edge. Yet when he felt Lucky's hands raise to touch him, to start wordlessly making demands Stephen would have no power to deny, he caught Lucky's wrists in an unbreakable hold. Took a measured step back. He licked the taste of Lucky from his lips, every part of him glorying in_ _how dark eyes followed the gesture with a possessive heat that burned, Stephen knew his own eyes were just as greedy._ Mine _, everything within him shouted. And Christ, what a gift to know it was true. Lucky belonged to him just as wholly, just as all-consumingly as he was owned by Lucky. With the thought, any lingering hesitation melted away in the fire burning between them. Squeezing Lucky's wrist in a silent warning before releasing them, Stephen narrowed his eyes._

_“Bunk. Now.” Nearly tripping over himself in his desire to comply, Lucky managed to climb onto the cot that every night was shoved up against Stephen's. Body practically vibrating as he sucked in air, he stared up at Stephen with eyes wide and shining red lips beckoning Stephen with a temptation he had no intention of denying. Motions jerky with impatience, Stephen tore off his own clothes, discarding them without a thought for where they landed, and practically before Lucky could let out a groan of appreciation for the acres of golden skin being revealed, Stephen had prowled over his body with the coiled power and grace of a predator. And Lucky was his very willing prey._

_Breath hissing out at the gorgeous contact, Lucky seemed to forget his orders, forget himself, as he immediately made to reach for Stephen. He once more found his wrists held in an unbreakable grasp that caused no pain, Stephen slamming them to the mattress above Lucky's head. “What did I say about moving?”_

_“No... no moving. Sir,” Lucky panted out, fighting back the urge to arch up, to glide his achingly hard cock against Stephen’s that lay so hot and heavy against his abdomen._

_“That's right. Now leave them here,” Stephen instructed firmly, as he wrapped Lucky's fingers around the metal bar forming the top edge of the cot. “Perfect,” he praised when Lucky gripped the bar obediently, noting the way the flush in Lucky's face deepened at the verbal caress. Fascinating._

_Certain now of Lucky's compliance, Stephen ghosted his lips over Lucky's, pulling back after only the briefest of teases that left Lucky whimpering. As much as he loved those lips, adored worshiping them with him own for hours on end - a habit that had led to the men tapping into the Army's thankfully never ending supply of coffee more mornings than not - he had other plans in this moment. Like touching every inch of Lucky with a reverence matched only by his endless need. “Fuck, you're so gorgeous,” he breathed as he licked his way down Lucky's neck, sucking hard on the insanely soft skin of his throat, inordinately pleased with the gorgeous red bruise his mouth left behind. Branding_ _Lucky_ _as his own, alive and incredible and_ _Stephen's, the mark both a declaration of ownership and a promise to keep always keep him safe._

_When Lucky made pained little whimpers, teeth biting harshly into his bottom lip, Stephen squeezed his hips in reprimand while dragging his teeth over the line of Lucky's collar bone. “Let me hear you, baby,” he ordered, voice husky. Before he licked over one flat nipple, then sank his teeth into the curve of Lucky's pec. He was rewarded by a hoarse shout tearing through the heated air of the tent, and knew they'd get plenty of winks and leers tomorrow morning. Good._

_Licking over the imprint of his teeth, Stephen shuddered as Lucky's high pitched whimpers wrapped around his cock like a tightly stroking hand, the brunet's body trembling for the effort of staying still under such delicious torture. He quickly revised his course of action, tossing aside the first strategy without a qualm. Effective planning required adaptation to circumstances, and currently, the sounds Lucky was making had Stephen seeing clearly there was no way he would last long enough to slowly take the man apart like he'd intended. Not when all Stephen could think about was getting inside the man. Later, he promised himself. Knowing his own patience would be much more generous after taking off the edge of his insatiable lust. So, new plan._

_With that in mind, he trailed his mouth south, tongue flicking out to taste skin as he crossed the incredible muscular expanse of Lucky's body, thumbs stroking the sharp jut of Lucky's hip bones, holding the man down with effortless strength. He knew any of Lucky's attempts to keep himself still as commanded would dissolve at the first touch of Stephen's tongue on his cock. And orders aside, Stephen couldn't blame him in the slightest. Not when he remembered well how he'd fractured the first time Lucky had wrapped those sculpted red lips around Stephen's dick._

            _Now Stephen used every skill he'd learned in the past weeks, to bring Lucky every bit of pleasure he could endure. Tongue lapping at the flared head, groaning at the intoxicating taste of the pre-come, Stephen kept Lucky on edge as he shallowly bobbed his head, before abruptly sinking down until the tip of Lucky's cock was nudging the back of his throat. Swallowing, throat working around the hard length of Lucky in the most intimate of caress, Stephen released one hip, glorying in the unmistakable bruising on pale skin in the shape of his fingers. He knew full well Lucky enjoyed the edge of pain same as he did._

_Quickly fumbling beneath the edge of the cot, he managed to snag the small jar of oil they kept there, by now well practiced at opening it one hand, dipping his fingers into it and without a hint of warning, bringing them to caress Lucky’s small ring of muscle. He heard the strain of metal, before Lucky's hands flew from where they'd been holding the cot in a white knuckled grip, fingers tangling in Stephen's hair. Groaning at the pleasurable bite of pain, Stephen was tempted to let Lucky keep at it. But not only did he fear it would push him over the edge before he'd even shoved into the tight heat of Lucky's body that even now was opening gorgeously around one gently thrusting finger, giving in wasn't part of the game._

_Releasing Lucky's cock from between his lips with an obscenely wet noise, Stephen said Lucky's name. Repeated it sharper, until Lucky finally looked down at him with an expression so fucked out and beautiful Stephen cursed. “I told you not to move. Keep your hands up, or I will tie them up.” At that, Lucky's body clenched around the now two fingers stroking more roughly so tightly, Stephen's vision hazed over._

_Moving in a blur of speed, Stephen snagged his belt, and levered himself back up Lucky's body even as he continued to stretch the brunet with fingers thrusting harder, unwilling to pull them away. “Hands up,” he ordered, as Lucky fucked himself down onto Stephen's hand. Moaning brokenly, Lucky managed to comply, crossing his arms at his wrists, the better for Stephen to wrap the leather of his belt around them, binding Lucky to the cot frame. A difficult task with only one hand, but never let it be said Stephen backed down from a challenge. Pulling the strap tight with his teeth, so he could maneuver the metal buckle closed, he gave the binding a testing tug, and found it unbreakable, but loose enough it wouldn't cut into Lucky's skin. Perfect._

_Pushing back up until he was kneeling between Lucky's splayed legs, Stephen stared down at the stunning sight of Lucky's hole stretching so pretty and pink around now three fingers. And found himself unable to stop the spew of filthy praise the poured out of him. “Jesus Christ, Luck, I swear you are the prettiest thing a guy could ever want. Look at you, taking my fingers so good, God, it's like you were built for this. I'm going to fuck you so good, you'll never want anything else.” Broken moans turned into hoarse wails when Stephen curled his fingers, pressing down on the bundle of nerves that had Lucky's eyes going blind, the brunet practically sobbed. Finding his own words at last._

_“Please, Stephen, now, now I need you now, hurry,” he pleaded mindlessly. And yes, so much yes. Reluctantly pulling his fingers free with one last caressing stroke, Stephen quickly slicked up his cock, the cursory stroke nearly having him double over at the sensation shooting through his neglected dick. In the next breath, he'd lined himself up against Lucky's fluttering entrance, and began to push, the thrust slow, steady, and practically never ending. Bottoming out at last, Stephen shifted until he was draped over his lover, wanting the touch of Lucky's skin on every inch of his body, pressing kisses to Lucky's sweat dampened temple as they both panted harshly. Lucky's body flexed and squeezed Stephen's in the sweetest form of torture he'd ever known._

_Trying to give his lover a moment to adjust, Stephen dropped his head, gliding his hands up Lucky's back and hooking over his shoulder. Adoring every single thing about his lover as Lucky began to shift beneath him, body pinned down by the heavy heat of Stephen's, but unable to lie still. “I love you so much, Luck. More than anything,” Stephen spoke, not even knowing the words were on his tongue until they fell past his lips. Then he felt a shout punched out of his lungs a split second after Lucky's keening cry, when he came, untouched and violently, beautifully._

_Cock pulsing between them, the wet heat and the almost painful grip of Lucky's body convulsing around his dick destroying the last_ _shred of Stephen's control. Snapping his hips sharply, he fucked into Lucky with fast hard thrusts, the drag of his cock through Lucky's still shaking body relentless. “Stephen!” Lucky practically screamed it as his arms pulled uselessly at the restraints, the blond swallowing the word, pressing his mouth to Lucky's trembling lips as he thrust one last time before spilling himself deep inside the brunet._

_The orgasm was so intense, it was a shock to his senses, knowing nothing else in the world other than the feel of Lucky underneath him, around him. Collapsing heavily over the other man, Stephen struggled for breath, knowing his weight was doing Lucky no favors when the other man was laboring to do the same. Yet before he could gather himself enough to roll aside, release Lucky's hands from their bonds, Lucky weakly turned just enough to brush his lips over the sweat dampened skin of Stephen's shoulder._

_“I love you too,” he replied, voice hoarse. The rough tone made Stephen's still hard cock buried deep twitch in response, his hips thrusting once helplessly. And clearly, the plan demanded yet one more revision. The belt holding Lucky exactly where he was wasn't going anywhere. At least not for the next few hours..._

 

 

“Holy. Shit.”

            Jolting violently, Steve almost smacked Sam in the face, who had been reading Bucky's latest chapter over Steve's shoulder. Yet Sam deftly avoided the flailing hand, because apparently he was a ninja in both agility, and stealth abilities.

            “Son of a bitch, Sam!” Steve exclaimed, flushing furiously even as he tried to both control his racing heart, and minimize the screen. Futile efforts considering his pulse had been working overtime for the last ten minutes regardless, and judging by the look on Sam's face, the damage had been done. “Don't sneak up on me like that,” Steve added, flustered as all get out, his blush growing hotter at the look of disbelief Sam leveled him. Before he used his ninja skills to grab the mouse and scroll further down, making sure he'd read the ending. And what a happy ending it had been.

            “Dude, I stood next to your desk and said your name five times. Figured I'd take a look at what had you so engrossed.”

            Giving up struggling to pull the mouse away from Sam's kung-fu grip, Steve let out a mortified sigh, pressing his hands to his face, desperately grateful that his desk hid certain parts of his anatomy from the friend who was practically on top of him. But that was about the only thing he was grateful for. The worst of it was, Sam was probably telling the truth. A tornado could have jerked the roof off the building and sucked Steve straight out of it, but so long as his computer was flying along with him, he likely wouldn't even notice. But really, no one could blame him. Not when his favorite writer, who also happened to be the guy he was insanely attracted to was sending him, well, _this_.

            'This' being the ongoing adventures of Captain America and his side-kick Lucky. The saga one Steve had been proof reading well over a month now. And getting off to on a daily basis. Although fortunately, despite the level of fucking hotness that melted his mind at work, he managed to hold off on any self-relieving activities until he got home. But only just.

            “Dude. How could you not have told me you and Bucky were doing the nasty?” Sam demanded, voice accusatory yet impressed. Steve dropped his hands to gape up at his friend, stunned by the conclusion.

            “What? Why do you - no, we're not!”

            “Please. You've been acting funky ever since we met your boy crush at Starbucks. But now that I see he's been writing out your sexual endeavors for all the smut reading world to enjoy, I can see why. Kudos on the bondage, I didn't think you had it in you.”

            Mind still racing to break free from the erotic spell the latest chapter had woven over him, and trying to grasp the fact his best friend was now convinced Steve could be so lucky as to actually be in any sort of relationship with _Bucky_ , Steve gaped at him.

            “Sam, I haven't seen Bucky since. We have not, uh, engaged in any sexual endeavors,” he managed to sputter out. Sam was instantly ready to retort, before noting the look of shocked sincerity on Steve's face. And frowned. His tone now held nothing but annoyed consternation.

            “Well, why the hell not? He's obviously writing these stories about the two of you. Damn good way to hit on someone, come to think of it. Maybe I should try that some time...” He reeled himself back in as Steve immediately made frantic objections.

            “Me? What? Why would you think that? No, I'm sure he's not.”

            “Dude. Stephen and Lucky? It doesn't exactly take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together. He's literally seducing you with his stories.”

            Unable to voice any more protests when every part of him desperately _wanted_ to believe that was true, but unable to fathom he could possibly be so fortunate, Steve fell silent. He looked up at Sam when his friend heaved out a sigh. “Come on, man. Let's go.”

            “What? Where?” Steve demanded as Sam hauled him to his feet, thankful his embarrassment had taken care of the physical evidence of his body's decided interest in the story, because otherwise it would have made for an awkward moment for both of them.

            “I'm taking you out for a drink. Where I will use persuasion, alcohol, brute force, or a combination of all three to convince you that Bucky wants your nuts.” Stumbling after Sam, snagging his coat as he was hustled out the door, Steve had no illusions Sam could convince him of such a thing. But after the fire that chapter had ignited within him, a cold drink sounded damn good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam to the rescue!!! If you enjoyed this smut-tacular chapter, I would love to hear from you. Thank you as always for reading.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray, another chapter up! Much quicker than I expected. Please note the updated tags for an unsolicited dick pic, but it's all okay. Enjoy!

 Hearing the cheerful ping of his text notification, Bucky absently shoved the rest of his egg-roll in his mouth as he blindly swatted for his phone. Far too riveted by the adorable spectacle before him to risk tearing his eyes away, and missing a moment of the tooth rotting fluff. The Puppy Bowl. Who knew? Certainly not him, until Darcy had informed him of just what he'd been missing in his life. The two of them were in regular contact, ever since Natasha's assistant had read his first installment of the Adventures of Captain America. She had called him, full of tearful apologies for thwarting what she was certain was true love - or at least inspiration for the hottest gay smut she'd ever read - and threatening demands for more, in a voice nearly as intimidating as Natasha's.

            Clearly hanging around the lethal redhead had worn off on her. Granted, Bucky had had no plans to stop his stories, but now had more incentive than ever to continue. Regardless, he appreciated the cute kitten memes she sent him as bribery to write faster, and the two had quickly fallen into a friendly competition to find and send each other the cutest baby animals known to human kind - a battle that had no loser. And now that he had witnessed the overwhelming cuteness of hordes of puppies running around and tackling each other with absolutely no regard for who had possession of the ball, he could not fathom how a majority of America _wasn't_ watching this. Who needed to watch the Superbowl when there were fuzzy little puppy players? To say nothing of the kitten cheerleaders. It was enough to make a grown man squee. Which Bucky certainly had countless times already, with absolutely no shame.

            At last locating his phone with his flailing hand, he grabbed it, then nearly flung it in a fit of excitement when the little black and white puppy he'd privately named Oreo took down the poof ball that was a little golden retriever puppy. Who clearly was not put out by the tackle as he began to lick Oreo with insane affection. How? How could any human handle this cuteness without just dying? Bucky didn't know, but he was grateful his life insurance was in order, because he had no intention of tearing himself away, even if it ended in his cute overload demise. Unlocking his phone, he only managed to tear his eyes away when the baby animal bonanza had gone to commercial. Reading the text, his eyes widened. This was certainly no meme compliments of Darcy.

_Unknown         9:25 PM_

            _ur officially killing me_

             Given the unknown nature of the phone number, the message could either be highly concerning, or deeply promising. An unknown number with a New York City zip code? Either that guy on a bike he'd almost clipped while gawking out his car window at a ridiculously cute husky puppy had hunted him down to take his admittedly righteous anger out on Bucky in a more verbal manner than the finger he'd given Bucky earlier that day... or perhaps one gorgeous blond who had access to Bucky's number had finally used it. Ever the optimist, Bucky dropped his crab wonton to cross his fingers in hope that it was option B, before crafting his reply.

  _Bucky              9:27 PM_

            _I'm afraid without a more specific allegation, I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation._

Rereading his response upon sending it, Bucky thought it struck the perfect tone. Potentially flirty. Yet also not admitting to almost killing the poor biker. He'd watched enough Law & Order to know the key to a strong defense was not confessing guilt at the first inquiry.

_Unknown         9:28 PM_

_ur storis. i'm pretty sure i won't survive reading any more of them._

Well that was encouraging. Wiggling gleefully, Bucky considered carefully before responding.           

  _Bucky              9:28 PM_

_I'm very sorry to hear that. Most of my readers express enjoyment. Do you have a specific grievance? I'd hate to be unknowingly killing people._

_Unknown         9:30 PM_

_im enjying them too much thats the problem_

             Very, very promising. Praying that this wasn't just a random reader - although any praise of that sort was flattering and appreciated - but the man he'd been trying to entice with every word he composed, Bucky chewed on a scoop of noodles thoughtfully. Then opened the next text that arrived before he'd had a chance to answer. And very nearly died himself, of shock related noodle inhalation. Sweet baby Jesus.

            Displayed across his screen was no cute kitten picture. No amusing puppy meme. No baby sloth video. But instead, a slightly blurry shot of someone's lap. Displaying mouthwatering tight jeans, which perfectly showcased the most gorgeous erection Bucky had seen via text message. And now wanted more than ever to see in person.

            Praying aloud to Jesus, Mary, God, and Allah just to hedge his bets, that this was in fact Steve taking the fastball Bucky had shamelessly thrown his way and knocked it out of the fucking park, rather than a random but very nicely built perv, Bucky fumbled to reply.

  _Bucky              9:31 PM_

_That does look like quite the... problem. I'd like to help you out with that, seeing as how my writing is the cause. But the thing is, I've been waiting to hear from one person in particular. This really great, gorgeous, funny guy named Steve. Maybe you know him?_

_Unknown         9:31 PM_

_omg_

_Unknown         9:31 PM_

            _sam was right. you like me_

_Unknown         9:31 PM_

_i mean i thnk that means you like me?_

_Unknown         9:31 PM_

_crap this is steve. in case you ddnt fgure that out_

_Unknown         9:31 PM_

_i hope so. gawd. sam gave me all the beers and told me to jst man up and text you. and now i'm txting way to much. im sorry._

            Reading the jumble of texts that came in one after another, Bucky's grin only grew, as did the warm feeling of elation in his chest. God bless this mysterious Sam. Bucky wanted to buy him a drink. But first thing first. Well, second thing, because the first thing he was doing was adding this number to his contact list. No way he wanted to risk losing it after just how hard he'd worked to get it.

  _Bucky              9:33 PM_

_Hello Steve. Yes I very much like you. And would love to take you out, on a real date, in person. Why don't we discuss the specifics tomorrow, when you're not otherwise occupied, or enjoying all the beers? ;)_

_SuperSexySteve 9:35 PM_

_YES! yes, that sounds awesome. id lov to_

  _Bucky              9:36 PM_

_Wonderful. I'll text you tomorrow. Have a wonderful night, Steve._

Setting his phone down after appreciating the string of grinning emojis Steve sent in drunken reply, Bucky couldn't wipe the completely ridiculous smile off his face. Chinese food, the Puppy Bowl, drunken texts, _and_ a dick pic from his future husband? Best night ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, direct contact made! I hope you enjoyed lovely readers, and stay tuned for the next chapter where we find out a bit more of what happened with Sam :) If you liked this chapter, I'd love to hear from you!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay another chapter! I hope you enjoy :)

Death. Death had fallen upon him. Or at the very least, the stages immediately preceding that final endless night. Groaning at the agony splintering through him, Steve tossed an arm over his face, blocking out what he was certain was the entire solar radiation from the sun, pouring directly over his squinched up eyes. “Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus, pray for us sinners,” he gritted out in a voice raspy with pain. Waiting until the nausea rolling through him in buffeting waves slowed its assault, he risked lifting his arm a fraction of a hair, cracking one eye open the tiniest bit. And immediately regretted it when his resulting frown of confusion felt like it threatened to crack his skull in two.

            “Rise and shine, gorgeous!” Moaning, Steve slowly, cautiously turned his head to glare at Sam, who was looking far too happy for Steve's current bleak outlook. Blithely oblivious to Steve's plight. It was regrettable, but he'd clearly have to murder Sam. There was no help for it. Once he was capable of opening both eyes at once, that is.

            Slurring a word that might have been what, or possibly why, Steve groaned again when Sam, that evil, sadistic man who had clearly been posing as a friend all this long time, went and pulled open the blinds. “And man, what a beautiful day! The perfect day for a hot date with your honey bun.”

            The man was speaking nonsense. Obviously not only was Sam no longer a friend, he was also a lunatic. The only date Steve was looking forward to was with his own bed, rather than what he now recognized was Sam's couch, a large bottle of Gatorade, and some extra strength Advil.

            Turning from the window, Sam laughed when he saw Steve had blindly grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the couch and wadded it over his face. Poor pathetic bastard, he thought with an affectionate grin. Before shaking the bottle of Advil he'd snagged from his bathroom in anticipation of his best friend's situation over Steve's head. The sound was enough to coax the top of Steve's disheveled head to peek back out. “I've got Gatorade waiting for you in the fridge, once you're ready to be vertical.”

            “Grape?” Steve questioned, his red rimmed eyes widening with hope. Sam laughed.

            “Of course.”

            “I take it all back,” Steve mumbled nearly incoherently. “You're a saint.”

            “Well obviously.” Setting the medicine down on the coffee table, Sam went to the kitchen to grab the promised Gatorade, and by the time he'd returned, saw Steve had revived enough to sit up. Though he was looking far from his best.

            Handing the blond the bottle, Sam plopped down next to him, gave a still bleary eyed Steve another grin.

            “So, when are you going to meet your boy?”

            Steve cocked an eyebrow at Sam as he gulped down Gatorade like it was delivered from heaven itself without pause. Finally setting the half empty bottle down to demand with growing consternation, “What are you talking about?”

            Sighing, Sam shook his head, seeing there was going to need to be a little refreshing on last night's events here. “Remember? I took you out for a few beers last night. To try to talk some sense into you that Bucky is totally into you. Which I was obviously right about. As proven when you drunk texted him.” Sam watched Steve's eyes go comically wide before he dropped his hands in his face, though that did nothing to hide the flush that was taking over every inch of skin visible.

            Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, Steve lamented internally. He remembered now, because _of course_ he did. Of course he was the type who could never black out and mercifully save himself the humiliation of remembering in vivid detail just what a fool he made of himself while under the influence. No, instead, he was currently recalling in a rush leaving work with Sam. Grabbing a beer with Sam. Rolling his eyes at Sam when his friend insisted Bucky wanted to get with him. Yet an hour later, the tiny voice inside of him who had dared whisper from the very beginning, Bucky _must_ like him, had grown increasingly vocal. Until at last, when Sam walked to the bar for another round and ended up chatting with the bartender Clint for a few minutes, Steve - foolish, drunken Steve - had taken advantage of the lack of supervision to do the worst thing a foolish drunk guy could do. He had drunk texted Bucky.

            “This is all your fault,” he moaned, knowing even as he spoke the words they weren't true. But in his moment of agony and disgrace, he felt he deserved to shift the blame.

            Sam barked out a laugh. “Um, at no point did I _ever_ tell you to send your boy a dick pic. That was all you. And for the record, neither did I suggest you text him, period, while drinking.”

            Steve whimpered, fingers clenching in his sleep fluffy hair. “I was drunk. It was an accident.”

            “How?” Sam mused aloud. “How are you such a light weight when you're built like a frickin' brick house. You had three beers, dude.”

            Not up for debating the odd quirk of his metabolism that let him eat pizza like it was going out of style with no weight gain, yet left him as unsteady on his feet as a college freshman after throwing back her first wine cooler, Steve collapsed back onto his side. Contemplating burrowing under the blanket, heck, under the couch cushions for good measures, until hunger finally overpowered his humiliation, Steve glared at Sam when Sam laid a hand on his shoulder, gave him a consoling squeeze.

            “Hey, don't beat yourself up, man. It all worked out. Clearly he liked the dick pick, since he asked you out.”

            Oh God. Bucky _had_ asked him out, Steve recalled, shocked beating out his shame, and he scrambled to grab his cell phone lying on the floor. Scrolling quickly through his texts, he found the conversation string. Cringing at his abysmal spelling, before feeling slightly impressed that he'd managed a reasonably clear picture of a not unimpressive erection, Steve blinked at the black and white evidence that his wasted antics had not managed to turn off Bucky, but instead netted him a date. Shouting as he jumped to his feet, and pumped both arms in the air, not even the pain that accompanied the actions could damped his excitement. “Yes! I have a date!”

            Grinning broadly, Sam let out a laugh. “Yes you do. Though if you ever want to have a second, I'd recommend you shower first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to be quite frank, I'm not sure this will be wrapped up in the next chapter. Perhaps it will. Or perhaps all my lovely readers will be granted a few more chapters :D Either way, thank you with sticking with this silly story thus far, and know that a suitable silly and happy ending is not far away! If you enjoyed this latest addition, I'd love to hear from you, as always.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays my lovely readers! I've been sick *again*, and then Moana came out, so, yeah. *singing How Far I'll Go incessantly* Anywho, as you may have observed, I updated the chapter number, because these two boys are just not cooperating with me, and this story is going on longer than I anticipated. I'm not complaining though, because it simply means more Steve and Bucky! There will definitely be one more chapter after this, possibly two. Either way, I hope you enjoy this update. :)

Upon reflection, Steve supposed it was odd for a perfectly healthy man of thirty with a reasonable respect for his own safety to spend so much time considering his own mortality. And yet, here he was again, confident his own death was imminent. The idea of spending an eternity six feet under was a looming prospect.

            Oh, he'd thought he'd been near death while being sexily taunted by Bucky's stories, particularly when he was so certain they hadn't been intended for him. He'd been quite certain he was dying while languishing on Sam's couch as the effects of three beers ran through him with the all subtly of a bunch of raging bulls. But now he knew he was dying. Better get old, Irish Uncle Andrew on the phone, to request he come out and sing Johnny Boy at the wake.

            As had been the case the first time around, and maybe somewhat the second, Steve could lie the blame squarely on Bucky's shoulders. His very broad... incredibly muscled... intensely sexy shoulders. The two had been dating two months now, and Steve couldn't be happier. After his initial nerves on their first date, which had in no way been helped by the lingering effects of his hangover, Steve had been shocked by how comfortable he became in the span of a few hours.

            Yes, this was the fantastic writer whose work he'd been crushing on for years. And yes, he was the sexiest man alive who made Steve feel incapable of stringing enough words together to form a sentence when he admired Bucky's gorgeous features for too long. But the longer they sat and talked, enjoying a fantastic Italian restaurant Bucky had chosen, the more Steve understood, yes Bucky was all those things, but he was also the man he'd kept up a snarky report with for years. A man with a hilarious sense of humor who had Steve laughing so hard, he managed to drop spaghetti on his shirt. Something that had Steve instantly flushing in embarrassment. Until, that is, Bucky laughed so hard in response, he spilled marinara all down his own shirt. At which point, he'd laughed even harder. Steve fell half in love in that moment.

            From there, it only got better. Dinner dates, movie dates, long walks in the park where they held hands, and like the complete sap he was, Steve blushed and tried his best not to stutter. Steve loved learning more about the man who'd grown up in the same city. Like discovering his adorable addiction for kitten videos. Which had of course prompted the follow up question, why didn't Bucky have a feline or two of his own? This time it was Bucky who had blushed, red painting his face as he ran a hand through his hair and admitted he was allergic. Plus, he just couldn't stand cat hair getting everywhere.

            Steve had grinned, more at Bucky's sheepish expression than anything else. Then he had shown up for their next date, hand hidden behind his back until he gave in to Bucky's demanding curiosity, and revealed a kitten stuffed animal, feeling a little silly at the gesture he'd be unable to resist. Until Bucky had slowly taken the toy, a wide smile breaking over his amazing face, then thrown his arms around Steve's neck and pressed his lips to Steve's. And _that_. That was the problem. The leading cause of death in one Steve Rogers. Bucky and the things he did to Steve. Or more specifically, the things he had yet to do.

            The night of their first date, long after all his nerves had smoothed away, they made a not-so-surprise reappearance when Bucky walked Steve to his door. Yet before Steve could quite work himself into a full-on state of anxiety over how he ought to proceed, because okay, yes it had been far too long since he'd gone on a date according to Sam, and he wasn't sure once the evening reached this point how to progress, Bucky had smiled at him calmly. “Thanks for an incredible night Steve. I'd love to do this again, and soon.” While Steve was babbling some sort of noises that he hoped articulated yes, so much yes, he wanted that too, Bucky smoothly grasped the nape of his neck. Reeled him in. And gave Steve that God damned best first kiss he'd ever had.

            Nerves forgotten, Steve enthusiastically returned the gesture, everything but the feel of Bucky's lips moving against his own obliterated from his mind. Including his own name for a bit there. Humming a noise that was somewhere between surprise and enthusiastic approval, Bucky had tugged Steve an inch closer, angling his head for an even better fit. His tongue teased out until Steve parted his lips, and he glided silkily inside. _Oh fuck yes,_ Steve had thought once his brain could formulate words again, as he hungrily drank in the other man, hands lifting to grasp narrow hips. Steve probably could have continued the kiss forever, or at least until one of them died from thirst, but at last Bucky pulled back, his eyes dark. “Wow.”

            He could say that again. Pressing one last kiss to Steve's lips, whispering, “Very soon,” Bucky had stepped back, giving the dazed blond a jaunty salute before heading out of the apartment building. At last Steve's brain cleared enough to unlock his door and step inside from what was officially the best first date ever.

            However, after two month of dates, they had progressed no further in the physical sense. And sexual frustration was going to be the end of Steve, he just knew it. It wasn't that he wanted to _rush_ into things, per se. Steve had welcomed the time to get to know the other man better, had enjoyed the time they spent together that invariably ended with a steamy kiss goodnight that left his unruly body certain rushing was exactly what he ought to be doing. But after months of delicious kisses, of holding hands, of snuggling together on the couch, of Netflix and chill where they literally just watched movies and chilled, Steve had to admit he was puzzled as hell.

            It wasn't that he didn't _appreciate_ that Bucky was turning out to be the consummate gentleman in their relationship. A relationship that had become fact when four dates in, where they enjoyed Bucky's favorite Chinese food takeout while he slightly shyly showed Steve his Youtube playlist of cat videos, before he paused mid-kitten chasing a laser pointer red dot of doom. Biting his gorgeous bottom lip, Bucky took a deep breath before expressing with the eloquence that made him such a successful writer, just how much happiness he was experiencing dating Steve, and that he would love to go steady. There had really been only one appropriate response - for Steve to tackle a surprised Bucky, sending rice flying as he peppered kisses over his face between enthusiastic “Yes”s. The grin and many kisses he got in return had made the time they spent afterward picking rice out of Bucky's carpet more than worth it.

            Steve was fairly certain he'd made his interest for more known, with the way he'd always tug the brunet back in for one more kiss. The way he'd press their hips together, eyes rolling back when he felt the very physical evidence of Bucky's response. Yet any time their couch cuddling started to slide towards the steamy, Bucky put a brakes on the action so subtly and skillfully Steve didn't even realize it until after the date was over and he was rocking a hard on and left with no choice but to take matters into his own hands. Literally.

            It would be one thing if he thought perhaps Bucky wasn't interested in physical interaction, which, he knew was certainly a thing. But from the way Steve would catch Bucky staring at him from time to time, eyes dark and breath catching, he didn't think that was the case. Not to mention, Bucky had flat out admitted his Captain America series had been based on Steve on himself, once Steve had finally worked up the courage to ask. Not before he'd laughed hysterically though, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes as he declared he could not believe Steve could be so oblivious he even had to ask. So, it would _seem_ that Bucky would be interested in taking things further. Steve just wasn't certain how to encourage that process along. Because he'd really like to stop taking so many cold showers while doing his best not to think of his far too irresistible, sexy boyfriend.

            When he'd called up Sam and broached the subject, certain his best friend might have some insight, Sam had been thoughtful. “I mean, there's no question he's into you, man. I practically caught on fire just being in the vicinity when he gave you that smoldering look.” A look Sam had been witness to when the three men went out for drinks - or in Steve's case, _one_ drink - which Bucky had insisted on buying in thanks for Sam helping Steve see reason, aka that Bucky had been shamelessly hitting on him. They'd had a great time, Steve happy to see both men getting along so well, even if they did gang up to tease him more than once. A development he didn't mind when he was just so damn happy.

            After a moments more contemplation, Sam gave a shrug Steve could literally hear through the phone. “He did write about you tying him up. Maybe he wants you to take the reins?” That was certainly a thought. Thus far Steve had been trying to non-verbally make his desires known, while hoping the other man would take the lead. But if being in control was what it took to move things forward, then he would damn well man up. After making certain that's what Bucky actually wanted, that is. Because a lack of consent was something Steve found decided _not sexy._

Resolve firming, Steve grabbed his keys before sailing out his door, his Sunday plans of laundry and cleaning flying by the wayside. Everything else could wait. The only thing that mattered right now was his boyfriend. And getting his hands on him, absolutely everywhere. The time for inactivity had passed. Steve was taking a leaf from Stephen's book, more than ready to show his man just how much he wanted him.

            Bucky wouldn't know what hit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Steve! Ready to get down to business. I love the idea of a very proper Bucky after swamping Steve in all the smut. ^_^ If you enjoyed this chapter, I'd love to hear from you! And next time... will the boys finally get down to business?? Stay tuned.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers! I know the last chapter ended on such a cliff hanger, I've been scrambling to finish up the next chapter. (A much longer one, I might add, hurray!) With that in mind, please forgive any editing errors - I do not have Editor Steve's mad skills. I hope you enjoy this very sexy chapter ;)

Curled up on his couch, Bucky snuggled further under a fluffy throw as he watched the adorable, fuzzy little leopard cubs playing in snow on the television. The only thing that could make the better would be if his adorable, and completely snuggly boyfriend was curled up on the couch with him. But Steve had put his foot down, and insisted they needed some time to take care of the things that had been falling to the wayside lately, in their mutually insatiable need to spend every waking moment together. Great for their relationship, not so good for those things necessary to life, like clean underwear. Bucky hadn't been pleased by the order politely worded as a suggestion, but he hadn't argued. He couldn't deny that his normal housekeeping duties had been summarily ignored, when he'd been choosing to spend every moment he could delighting in Steve's company rather than such uninspired activities as dusting.

            And so, he'd mopily gotten up, sad that he wouldn't be seeing Steve today, but with genuinely good intentions to do some serious deep cleaning. Yet he'd made the mistake of flicking on his TV for some background noise while he did dishes. And then the program on large cats had just been _playing_. What were big cats other than really big kittens? He'd been unable to resist. Plus there had been the little matter of Sir Fluffy Paws, the stuffed kitten Steve had gifted him - a name Bucky had picked instantly but would only admit under the most skillful interrogation techniques - just sitting on the couch, cute face begging for some cuddle time. And really, who needed clean dishes when he had a supply of paper plates just waiting to be used? Bucky was certain even the most motivated of individuals would not have been able to resist the combination of circumstances. And he was hardly the most motivated of individuals.

            When his cell phone began to ring, Bucky glanced at it with a mixture of hopeful excitement and guilt. If he couldn't cuddle with Steve's muscle bound figure that was far more comfy to lie against than seemed reasonable or fair, talking on the phone and hearing that deep voice that resonated in all the right ways was the next best option. However, no matter how well Bucky tried to play it off, Steve would simply _know_ the brunet had yet to make a dent in his chores. And Bucky could visualize the brows of disapproval all too well, having seen them aimed at the guy who'd had the audacity to cut them in line while buying movie tickets on their last date night. When he saw Natasha's name flashing across his screen, his guilt morphed into all out dread. What in the world had he done wrong now? He was pretty sure _she_ didn't know about his cleaning slackery, but with Nat, you never really knew.

            “Happy Sunday Nat!” he practically sang in what he hoped was a winning, chipper tone. She promptly ignored both his greeting, and the forced cheer in his voice.

            “Did I not make myself explicitly clear?”

            “Uh...” He stalled, having no idea what she was talking about. Yet he feared admitting that might lead to his imminent death.

            “I stated, in very plain English, that you were to _never_ write about what you and Rogers get up to.”

            “Yes?” he agreed hesitantly, no less confused than he'd been thirty seconds prior.

            “Then why in the world am I still reading about you and Steve's sexual shenanigans in The Adventures of Captain America?”

            “You're not!” he denied instantly. He could practically see the disbelief rolling over her features.

            “You mean to tell me your last chapter was _not_ a detailed blow-by-blow of your extracurricular activities with one gorgeous blond man who goes by the name Steve?”

            Ahhh, the last chapter. That had been a particular favorite of his. Where Lucky had demonstrated to a very receptive Stephen that he was, in fact, a rimming god. Good times. Which tragically had no basis in any real life experience between Steve and Bucky.

“Of course not,” Bucky reiterated, brows drawn together as Nat paused, clearly hearing the sincerity in his voice.

            “Well then, for goodness sake, why _not_? If you're trying to tell me you're not playing out all these little scenarios with your physically perfect boyfriend, I can only conclude you're a bigger idiot than I already knew you to be. And that was pretty big.”

            Bucky could take offense. However, since Natasha was not only his publisher, but also one of his oldest friends who had witnessed nearly all of his idiotic life moments, he wasn't going to argue that point. But - “It's not idiotic to wait. We're... waiting.”

            “That's never really been your m.o. before,” she observed, her voice considering, clearly trying to understand this without breaking out her interrogation techniques that could have had him confessing all, including his stuffed animal's embarrassing name, in seconds. Something Bucky would normally appreciate, yet was now too busy considering the very subject that had been at the forefront of his mind for the last two absolutely wonderful, yet incredibly excruciating months.

            “It's just-” he broke off with a sigh, shoving a hand through his sleep tangled hair. “He's - he's _different_ Nat. He's not only gorgeous, he's even more amazing on the inside. So kind and funny, and a bit of a smart ass once you really get to know him. He's just... I don’t want to screw this up.”

            “You're nervous,” she supplied, her tone surprised at the revelation.

            “What? No! I'm not,” he huffed out a breath. Closed his eyes. “Shit. Okay, yes.”

            “Bucky, listen to me. You don't write all those stories because you _don't_ know what you're doing. I have it on good authority from several of your ex's - in more detail than I ever wanted to know, I might add - that you're pretty dang fantastic. And honestly, even if you weren't from the get go? Something tells me Steve likes you so much it wouldn't matter. Because the last time I saw him, and brought you up, it was obvious. He thinks you're just as amazing. You won't screw this up.”

            Bucky chewed on his lip, glancing over at the unexpected knock at the door. Glad for the distraction that let his stall as he considered his reply. He knew Nat well enough to know, she wouldn’t ever just say something in an effort to make him feel better. So that meant she believed every word she said. But that didn't necessarily mean she was right - that he wasn't capable of disappointing Steve, and therefore ruining the best thing he'd ever had. “One second,” he said, and went to the door. Then blinked in surprise when he opened it to find the blond in question standing there, an intensity to his features that had Bucky's breath catching in his throat.

            “Bucky,” Steve said, that deep voice rougher than usual. And oh, that sent shivers down Bucky's spine.

            “Ah, Nat? I'm going to have to call you back.” Bucky's voice, in comparison, was significantly higher than normal.

            “Is that Steve?” she demanded, having heard the voice over the phone. “Perfect. Go get some! I expect a full report back. But not in your stories!” she ordered before Bucky disconnected the line.

            “Ah, Steve. Hi.” Bucky shifted, trying to hide the view of his kitchen, and the pile of dirty dishes still sitting there. “What, uh, brings you by today?”

            In lieu of replying, Steve simply moved forward, crowding Bucky with that truly exquisite body until Bucky took a step back. At which point Steve came inside, closed the door behind him, then in a blindingly fast maneuver had Bucky pinned against it.

            Bucky's resulting noise was inarticulate to say the least. Then when Steve instantly had a hand tangled in his hair, and those plush pink lips pressed against Bucky's mouth, the whimper he made was straight up embarrassing. Steve didn't seem to care. His fingers tightening enough to have Bucky's head tipping back, teeth nipping at Bucky's bottom lip before his tongue swept inside and took over. Bucky's last semi-coherent thought was how this was so much better than doing dishes before his mind gave up all together.

            “Bucky,” Steve breathed, less of a word and more of a kiss as he refused to pull away from the brunet who'd gone pliant in his grip. Gripping Bucky's hip with his free hand, he moved closer yet until only the thin layer of their clothing separated them. Then he gave in and swept his hand underneath the soft t-shirt Bucky wore with his pj bottoms, letting out his own groan at the feel of that lithely muscled body and achingly soft skin under his fingers. “Bucky, I want you so bad,” he said, the edge of desperation in his voice going straight to Bucky's cock, which was already doing its best to rip straight through his flannel pants.

            “Fuck,” Bucky breathed, head falling back against the door as Steve trailed those lethal lips along his jaw line, then down his neck. Before licking hotly over the pulse thundering in his throat, then biting down. The keening noise that tore out of him was one Bucky was relatively certain he'd never made before. But that was probably logical, since no one had ever undone him so quickly, and so skillfully. God, Steve was setting him on fire, the blond starting to rut his hips against him, and the feel of the impressive denim clad erection rubbing against his own had his vision going black.

            When Steve's anxious hands began to tug at the hem of Bucky's shirt, there was no thought of resisting. Instead, he lifted his arms and let the other man tug the garment off, shuddering at the raw noise of approval Steve made. Yet before Steve could do more than run a greedy hand over the rippling plane of his abs, Bucky tugged at Steve's shirt.

            “Fuck yes,” Steve muttered in agreement, clearly on the wavelength that two shirtless men was better than one. Jerking his own shirt overhead one handed, Bucky barely had the chance to gasp out a breath at the sight of fucking _acres_ of golden skin stretched over ridiculously unreal muscle, Steve's hair delightfully tousled, before Steve stepped back into him. And yes, feeling was even better than seeing, Bucky's knees literally going weak feeling the heat of Steve's body practically burning him alive.

            Unwilling to be swayed from his earlier mission, Steve continued his campaign of pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along Bucky's neck, and down the slope of his shoulders, over the sexy line of his collarbone. All while gliding his palms over the curve of Bucky's pecs, tracing the lines of his ribs, spanning the flexing expanse of his back. Before he settled his hands back on Bucky's hips, thumbs rubbing erotically over the ridge of his hips, revealed by the low slung pajama pants.

            “Bucky,” Steve said again, Bucky shuddering at his name being said in that sinful tone. He never wanted to hear it any other way again. “Please, I want you. Can I-”

            “Anything,” Bucky swore fervently, having no idea what Steve was asking for, but certain that any suggestion short of jumping off a cliff, he'd be down for. And even that he'd probably cave to, if they were both cliff diving, preferably naked. When in seconds Steve had dropped to his knees, and began to lick over the muscles arrowing down into Bucky's pants, Bucky knew his agreement had been the fucking right choice. Especially once Steve began to rub his hand over the length of Bucky's cock, making humming little noises of pleasure.

            Wondering vaguely if he'd decided to do the dishes after all, then slipped in a puddle of water, smacked his head against the counter, and was now enjoying a lovely coma, Bucky reached down, buried his fingers in soft blond hair to ground himself. Then he saw the way Steve lifted those incredibly blue eyes, staring up through his ridiculous lashes, before slowly leaning forward and pressing a delicate kiss to the flannel covered tip of Bucky's dick.

            “Oh sweet Jesus,” Bucky breathed, heart stopping altogether when those lush pink lips pulled up into a wide, sweet smile.

            “I don't want to rush you. And we don't have to do anything you don't want to. But please, Bucky, may I suck your cock?”

            Nope, definitely not a coma. Clearly he'd sustained substantial enough head trauma, he was now dead. And in a better version of heaven than he'd ever envisioned in his wildest dreams.

            “Fuck. Yes. Yes, yes yes,” Bucky babbled out. The way Steve's smile widened wasn't mocking, but rather genuinely happy, as though Bucky was granting his own wildest dream, and that was just insane.

            Hooking his fingers in the waistband of Bucky's pj's, Steve carefully pulled them down, breath catching when he saw Bucky wasn't wearing any underwear. Bucky was never more grateful he'd run out of clean boxer briefs than in that moment when he saw those blue eyes widen in delighted awe.

            “God, you're so gorgeous,” Steve breathed. Before Bucky could formulate the response that he was crazy, Steve was the clearly the gorgeous one, Steve had leaned in once more and licked from base to tip, strangling the words in his throat. Then he swallowed down the length of Bucky's cock in one smooth motion, and Bucky lost all power of coherency. Heaven - Steve's hot, wet mouth, and tight throat as he swallowed, flexing around Bucky's cock, was sheer heaven.

            When Bucky would have reflexively jerked forward, Steve's hands returned to his hips, and held him in place as the blond began to leisurely blow him. Steve alternated between long sucks, and shallow bobs of his head, tongue caressing that incredible spot right beneath the head of Bucky's dick. And he stared up at Bucky the entire time. No one had ever looked so filthy and so pure all at once, Bucky was sure of it. Wide eyes took in the sight of those plush lips stretched around his cock, the blue gaze staring up at him adoringly, the muscled figure kneeling at his feet as though it were an honor. Christ, it was no wonder that Bucky felt his body tightening, dangerously close to release in a matter of minutes. And after two months of lusting after this man who was now worshiping him with that mouth, how could anyone expect him to hold back? But fuck, he didn't want this over too soon.

            “Steve,” he panted out, between the groans and whimpers tearing from his throat, giving the hand in Steve's hair a gentle tug. Which made the blond moan in response, and the feel of that vibrating along Bucky's shaft did not fucking help his desire to hold back. “Steve, I'm going to come.”

            Slowly Steve gave his cock one last lingering suck before letting him slide from between glistening lips. “Do you want to? I know you'll taste so good coming in my mouth,” he replied, and fuck, the enticement in his velvet voice nearly had Bucky shooting off right then and there.

            Gritting his teeth, heaving breaths in and out until the imminent urge backed off enough, no easy task when Steve was still mouthing along the painfully hard line of his dick, Bucky demanded, “What do you want?”

            “Well. Like I said, I don't want to rush you. Or make you do anything you don't want to do,” Steve began, lashes falling for the first time as a flush began to creep over his amazing cheekbones. And okay, he definitely had Bucky's attention.

            “What do you want baby?” he questioned again, adding some steel to his voice.

            Bucky’s hips jerked once more at the way Steve immediately met his gaze, and bit his lip before admitting in a rush, “I really want you to fuck me.”

            Holy. Shit.

            All doubts, all fears, all hesitations were banished so quickly they may as well never have existed. Using his own strength, Bucky tugged Steve back to his feet, before pulling the surprised man into a kiss that was filthy, wet and amazing. “Whatever you want sweetheart,” Bucky pulled back enough to growl, gratified by the way Steve's pupils, already wide, blew out at the promise.

            And then Bucky was tugging Steve to his bedroom, territory he'd intentionally steered clear of with his boyfriend, yet now he needed the man sprawled across his bed with an intensity that was primal. Steve made no protest, though he let out his own whimper when Bucky practically ripped his jeans and boxer briefs down his legs then wrapped his truly magnificent erection in a tight fist. “Oh God,” Steve groaned, head tipping back as his hips surged into Bucky's grip.

            “Fuck you're perfect,” Bucky observed, adoring the shudder that ran through the Adonis he was lucky enough to have the right to touch. He knew they both needed more, when his hard-on was crying for relief, and Steve's body was begging to be touched, every amazing inch of it.

            “On the bed,” he ordered, feeling Steve twitch in his grip at the command. And yes, so much yes, this was something he would happily, would _gratefully,_ explore with his boyfriend. He would give Steve all the guidance and firm instruction he wanted, so long as it meant Bucky could adore him the way he'd been aching to for what felt like an eternity.

            Breath huffing through parted lips, Steve managed to blink his eyes clear enough to clamber onto the mattress, shuffling up it until he flipped over, head resting on what he dimly noted was an indecently comfortable pillow. The comforter beneath his skin was luxuriously soft, the mattress cradling him incredible. But right now, the only sensation he wanted was Bucky's skin pressed all over his.

            “Please,” he breathed, hips jerking again when he saw Bucky let out a shaky breath, hand dropping to squeeze the base of his cock in a punishing grip. And in that second, Steve understood that just perhaps, unbelievably, he affected Bucky just as much as Bucky affected him. If that was true - Christ he could barely fathom it when the man was so sexy just looking at him in his naked state nearly _hurt_ \- then Steve had no shame in using anything he could to get what he wanted. And what he wanted was to pleasure Bucky, because even that brief taste, hearing the brunet moan his praise, was the most pleasurable experience of Steve's life.

            “Please,” he nearly whimpered again. Steve blinked when quicker than seemed possible Bucky was over him, caging Steve with his thickly muscled body. But when his lips met Steve once more, there was nothing rushed in it. Instead, it was all a slow, silky glide of mouths, and the sheer romance of it made Steve melt further into the bed.

            “My God, Steve, you're so gorgeous. I swear, I've never seen someone as sweet as you, doll,” Bucky breathed in between leisurely, drugging kisses. He was intoxicated by the other man, and refusing to let this be rushed. Steve, by some gift of the God's, actually wanted _him_. Bucky was determined to never make the man regret the show of trust.

            In all his fictional adventures staring Lucky and Stephen, Bucky had been sure to always write Stephen as the top. In part, because the idea of being taken apart by the muscle bound blond was a blessing Bucky would happily beg for every day the rest of his life. But also, as much as in the beginning he'd hoped Steve was either interested in men in general, and interested in Bucky in particular, he didn't want to assume. A love of switching himself, he knew not everyone was as flexible in their sexual tastes, and so had taken the safest course when seducing Steve with his erotic literary prowess. But now, to know Steve wanted Bucky to share that with him... there was no way he'd be fucking Steve tonight. No, instead he'd be making love to him the way everything within Bucky demanded. For starters though, he'd keep his promise to himself and learn every inch of his unbelievable boyfriend.

            At last leaving the glorious haven of Steve's plump, delicious lips, Bucky trailed his own down Steve's neck, interspersing little flicks of his tongue with gentle nips. He delighted in the straight up whimpers Steve made, stirring fitfully beneath the bracket of Bucky's arms and legs. When the blond lifted his hands, feverishly running them down Bucky's back, tugging in an effort to have skin on skin, Bucky shook his head. He sank his teeth a little deeper in the upper curve of Steve's shoulder, before sitting up, straddling Steve's legs, and catching the blond's wrists in his hands. “Uh uh,” he said with an adoring smile. “You had your turn to touch, now I'm going to have mine.” Gently he laid Steve's hands flat on the mattress, gave his wrists a slight squeeze. “Will you be good and do that for me?”

            Steve's hands immediately clenched in the blanket, knuckles turning white, blue eyes hazing over the slightest bit. “Yes. Yes, I will. But please, I need more,” he begged, until Bucky silenced him with another kiss, with a hint more fire to it. Then he resumed his exploration of the miles of golden skin laid out like the most desirable treasure in the world. Bucky would share it with no one.

            Bracing himself up with one hand, Bucky used the other to trace firm muscle that had his cock begging to come once more. But there was no way he'd let this be over before he was ready, no matter how enticing the idea of spilling all over those fucking delicious abs and chest of Steve's was - and shit, that kind of thinking wasn't helping him at all.

            More as a way to distract himself than anything, Bucky traced his mouth down those rippling muscles, nipping at the sharp jut of Steve's hip bone, before following the muscle that led in an enticing v towards the most beautiful dick in existence. He liked to consider himself a bit of a dick connoisseur, having seen a reasonable share in his life, but written about countless more in his smutty stories. And he had never written one as perfect as Steve's. Thick, long, the slightest curve to it - Jesus, just looking at it had Bucky's mouth water. Seeing no reason to deny either one of them, Bucky flicked his tongue over the tip already glistening with pre-come. Then he swallowed it down whole, Steve's shout sounding like it had been punched out of his lungs.

            Bucky's lashes fluttered shut as he sucked strongly on the hot length he slid between his lips, and fuck if he wasn't have a moment. Potentially an existential crisis. Whatever it was, he knew he'd never tasted a man so perfect, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, no one else would ever do. Steve had officially ruined him for all other dick. Bucky couldn't be happier. He also starting to lose his grip on his patience when he felt the flurry of movement, and opened his eyes to see Steve's hand hovering in the air, as though he had intended to bury it in Bucky's hair, then remembered his directives at the last second. Steve let his hand fall again, with a raw groan, head thrown back, expression so pleasured it was nearly pained, and Bucky knew all over again - Steve was absolutely perfect. And needed to be clenching tightly around Bucky's cock, like five years ago.

            With that in mind, he slowed down, shallowly bobbing his head, tongue lavishing attention on the underside of the flared head of Steve's cock, while he reached towards his bedside table and the mostly empty bottle of lube that was there. It have been a _very_ long two months. Popping the lid open, he quickly slicked up his fingers, before nudging Steve's legs further apart, shifting so that he was kneeling between them rather than straddling those gorgeous thighs. Bucky then began to circle his finger around Steve's tight little ring of muscle, glorying in the way Steve instantly let out a near wail at the contact and pressed down in a desire for more.

            Letting Steve slide out from his mouth with a filthy little pop, Bucky pressed soothing kisses to the man's hip, as he shallowly thrust the first finger inside. Then he dropped his head to rest on Steve's body, shuddering at how magnificently tight Steve was, yet how brilliantly his body gave, relaxing around one gently thrusting digit. Before it even seemed reasonable, Steve was pleading for more, and Bucky let out his own groan before lifting his head from sweat dampened skin, the better to watch Steve's body stretch around a second finger. And if _that_ wasn't the most gorgeous thing in the world, Bucky couldn't fathom what it could be.

            Scissoring the two, gently stretching the blond, Bucky wasn't deaf to Steve's moans and panted pleas for more, harder, rougher, _anything_. “I'll take such good care of you baby, I promise,” he husked out in response, rubbing soothing circles in Steve's trembling thigh with his free hand. And he would, yet the promise didn't mean he couldn't make this as sweet as possible for the both of them.

            Steve's babbling words cut off when Bucky unexpectedly slid three fingers in, then crooked them, skimming over that bundle of nerves that had him crying out and seeing stars. And God, did Bucky want to just stay right there, stimulating the blond until he made a glorious mess of his own chest. But even more, he wanted to be in him, and with that though, Bucky was reaching for a condom, ripping the package open with his teeth before rolling it on one handed. Shuddering at the cursory contact of his own hand, he slid his fingers free from Steve's clenching ass, and quickly slicked up his own dick. Before he blanketed Steve at last, wiped his fingers carelessly on the sheets, and then grasped the blond's hands in his own. Instantly Steve's fingers tightened around his, the connection unexpectedly and shockingly intimate, their eyes locked on one another. Deliberately Bucky nudged his cock forward, brushing against Steve's entrance, before slowly yet implacably pressing inside, not stopping until he was seated fully inside his lover.

            Steve's moan spoke volumes, tears glittering in his eyes at the overwhelming sensation of Bucky finally inside of him. His heart thundered inside his chest as the brunet sweetly whispered soothing words while he brushed his sculpted lips over Steve's cheek bone, kissing away the tears that ran over. Then, never letting go of Steve's hands, Bucky began to move, pulling nearly all the way out, before sliding back in. Steve hated letting him go even that far, hated the feeling of emptiness Bucky left in his wake. A sentiment Bucky seemed to share when he began to roll his hips, cock staying snug within the tight grasp of Steve's body, yet stimulating every nerve within him.

            Watching Steve completely vulnerable and open to him, Bucky felt his heart shudder harder than it ever had before. He pressed his mouth to Steve's which was slack, issuing a never ending stream of moans. “Bucky, Bucky,” Steve panted against his lips, as though it was the only word he knew, and Bucky knew he'd do anything to hear his name like that again and again, so perfect rolling off Steve's tongue.

            “God, I love you,” Bucky breathed. Before freezing, chill creeping into the blazing bliss of the moment. Christ he hadn't meant to say it now, hadn't meant to say it at all, certain it would push the blond away by being too much, too soon. Panic settled inside him for a split second when Steve stared up at him with wide eyes. Before the blond, untouched, began to come. Body flexing violently around Bucky as he sobbed out his orgasm, painting both their chests with his hot release. Unprepared for the erotic feel of Steve clenching spasmodically around him, hands clenching around his as Steve tipped his head forward, pressed his mouth to the heavy muscle of Bucky's shoulder and bit down, Bucky felt his own release rip though him. It was equally as shocking and stunning, and the most blissful experience he'd ever had.

            Muffling his shout in the flushed skin of Steve's neck, Bucky collapsed entirely upon Steve, making no effort to hold any of his weight up. He was unsure if he'd ever have that level of muscle control again. Shuddering at the waves of pleasure still rolling through him, hips weakly chasing the sensations that stripped him bare, Bucky trembled once more when Steve finally released his hand, to stroke his own down Bucky's back.

            At last, his brain began to function just enough to realize that while the blond might have a few inches on him in height, Bucky's comparably heavily muscled figure couldn't make breathing the easiest task. Reluctantly pulling out of the blissful heat of Steve's body, both of them hissing at the sensation, he managed to pull off the condom, and toss it into the trash can near his bed. Before he collapsed beside a panting Steve, trying to remaster the steps of breathing himself. Which became exponentially more difficult when Steve reached out, and with a breathtaking display of strength, rearranged Bucky until he was cuddled in Steve's arms, half draped over the blond's body. Bucky couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

            “Bucky?” Steve said at length, his voice warm, and yeah, Bucky liked hearing his name in this particular tone too. Really, any way that Steve said it was just perfect.

            “Mmm,” he hummed. Too deliciously drained to work up a better response then that.

            “I love you too,” Steve whispered. Intense blue eyes met Bucky's gaze, nothing but honesty and pure, gorgeous emotion in his eyes. Grinning, Bucky found he had the energy to reply after all.

            “Thank God. Otherwise this might have been awkward.”

            Steve's booming laughter rang through the room, and contented in a way he'd never known before, Bucky snuggled closer. He never wanted to leave this spot. More specifically he never wanted to be separated from the blond he was plastered to. With that in mind, he asked a question he didn't think he'd voice for months to come. But hell, today had been a day for first. Blow jobs, check, mind blowing sex, check, declarations of love, double check. What was one more first?

            “So I was thinking,” he began, tracing fingers over Steve's skin in mindless designs because even limp and sated, he couldn't get enough of touching the other man. “Maybe I could come over to your place? Stay the night?”

            Steve's brows pinched together, Bucky's heart lurching unpleasantly, until Steve once again proved just how perfect he really was. “But then you'd have to come all the way back here to get any work done tomorrow. Plus I know you like to work on Sunday nights - I don't want to ruin that. Maybe I could stay with you instead?”

            “Actually,” Bucky bit his lip. “I may have, uh, bought a lap top. Just in case I needed to ever do some writing some other place than my house. Someday.”

            The smile that broke over Steve's face was nearly blinding in its brilliance. “Really? Some place, huh?”

            Bucky laughed slightly in embarrassment, but Steve was looking so pleased, he decided that didn't really matter. “Your place.”

            “In that case, I'd love if you spent the night at my place.” What Steve left unspoken was that once he had Bucky there, curled up in his own bed, he'd be reluctant to let him leave. But, if the Adventures of Captain America were any indication, Lucky, or rather, _Bucky_ , might not be adverse to being tied up. Regardless, all he knew was that wherever Bucky was, was where he wanted to be. And knowing that the love he felt for the man was returned, Steve couldn't be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was going to be the last chapter... (I've said this to myself so many times) but now I really want to wrap up one specific loose end. So the next chapter with be an epilogue, but this is the main ending of the story. I truly hope you have enjoyed this silly, fluffy, smutty fic, and if you have, I would adore hearing from you. :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, here we are at last! The very last chapter, a epilogue that came straight from my heart! All the fluff ahead.

_Eight Months Later_

 

Late December found Bucky, Nat, Darcy, and the rest of the Malen'kiy Pauk staff at their annual holiday party. One that Natasha threw for both her company and the writers she represented, happily celebrating their mutual success. This year however, she'd expanded the invite to include Carter Press as well, because this year was her company's best yet, and that was certainly worth celebrating in style.

            Bucky knew full well, with no trace of ego, it was largely due to the wildly resounding success of his Captain America series. A fact he felt no arrogance over, because while he may have written them, the stories would never have come to be without Steve's inspiration. The man was the true reason for the success, as Bucky was quick to state to Steve's terminal embarrassment, any time someone came up to congratulate him. A reason Darcy teased Steve about relentlessly over her peppermint martini.

            Steve blushed, stammered, and denied having anything to do with it. Bucky, for his part, was simply glad Steve had been invited on his own merit. Bucky would be thrilled to bring Steve as his date, but was happier to have Steve there, having his own work acknowledged and appreciated. Bucky wouldn't produce the caliber of work he did without Steve's precise revisions. Just like he wouldn’t be the man he was without Steve's love.

            Successful the series may have been, but they'd eventually had to reach their conclusion. Partially because Bucky had been ready to explore new plots and worlds. But mostly because Natasha had point blank stated that she knew the smut was now 100 percent based on the men's sexual exploits. She hadn't been wrong.

            So, as sad as Bucky have felt to write it, he'd composed an ending. There was undeniable satisfaction in giving the duo the happy ending he knew they deserved. Stephen Dodgers punched Hitler in the face. The war was won. The couple moved into a new, cozy home in Brooklyn with their Army pension, where Lucky Farnes proposed to a delighted and flabbergasted Stephen. And the two lived happily ever after.

            If the story line just _happened_ to mirror Bucky and Steve's own relationship, well, they do say art imitates life, right? Not that Steve had actually punched Hitler in the face. And not that Bucky had proposed to him. Yet.

            They had moved into an apartment together though, their previous leases ending at the same time, in the sort of miracle that only happened in the best love stories. And their story was more full of love than ever.

            Finally relenting her good natured teasing once Steve's face approximated the same shade of red as his soft v-neck sweater, Darcy turned to Bucky with a devilish grin. “So, I started reading your newest series, Stealing The Captain's Heart. Seriously. Pirates - how hot is that? Where did you get the idea for this one?”

            Grinning a wicked smirk that had Steve blushing even harder, Bucky fondly considered his new series that featured bondage quite heavily. “Darcy, you just never know where inspiration with strike.”

            Darcy attention was suddenly caught by her first sight of Sam Wilson, the handsome man walking in, brushing snow off his shoulders as he laughingly defended his lateness by laying blame on the unreliability of the L Line. Their co-worker Thor seemed to give him a minute more crap, then proceeded to drag Sam over to the bar.

            “Bucky, I think I know precisely what you mean,” Darcy drawled, knocking back the rest of her martini. Before she disappeared in a flurry of lush curls and delicate perfume, clearly off to stake her claim. Contemplating how those two would certainly have lovely dark haired children, Bucky smiled, giving a small nod of approval. Before he winced at the sharp punch Natasha delivered to his shoulder.

            “Ouch!” he complained, scowling and rubbing his arm, even as he stepped closer to his boyfriend for protection. Bucky knew Natasha could murder him without spilling her drink. Hopefully Steve would at least provide something of a challenge. “What was that for?”

            “What did I tell you about writing about yourself and lover boy here?” Natasha demanded ominously. Steve cleared his throat awkwardly, as he suddenly seemed to become fascinated by the ceiling. Bucky smirked.

            “What? Just because the stars of my new story _happen_ to be blond and brunet, and really, really ridiculously good looking - that's just a coincidence. Plenty of people could fit that description. Including my totally fictional characters.”

            “Uh huh...” she drawled, unimpressed. And unconvinced. Yet before she could reply further, or commit murder, she was drawn into conversation with another writer, something Bucky was eminently thankful for. Never one to miss a golden opportunity, Bucky snagged Steve's hand and pulled him into a strategic hasty retreat, until they were safely on the other side of the room.

            “So, not too often one receives an implied death threat at a work function. What do you say, best holiday party ever?” Bucky questioned with a wide grin. Smiling in return, Steve set his beer aside before gently bracketing Bucky's hips in his hands and drawing him closer.

            “It's definitely the best holiday ever. Because I'm sharing it with you.” Steve's voice was low, soft, and wonderfully sincere. And really, there was nothing else Bucky could do besides pull Steve into a sweet kiss, ignoring the whistles and cat calls that inspired. Thinking about the ring hidden in his underwear drawer, and praying this holiday season would become even better, with Steve agreeing to be his forever, Bucky took his time kissing those perfect lips. He knew he could happily do so for an eternity. Forever with Steve - that was all the happy ending Bucky could ever hope for.

            Four hours later, when Steve made achingly slow love to Bucky, wearing nothing but a gorgeous ring on his finger and adoration spread over his face, Bucky couldn't be more thankful, knowing it was a happy ending they would both experience, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, it's over! I have adored this prompt. So much so that I'm definitely toying with the idea of a sequel, some time in the future. But regardless, this ending was exactly what I wanted it to be, so I very much hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Fun (aka completely dork) fact, the Stealing The Captain's Heart series DOES exist. Cause I wrote it. :D If you haven't read it and are looking for some steamy nautical themed fun, I recommend you give it a whirl! If you have read it, I recommend you crack it open again because I actually commissioned a picture from the genius Hopeless-Geek, and it's now attached! *Think Steve and Bucky embracing on the cover of a cheesy romance novel. It is amazing.*
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. And if you liked it, I just love love love to hear from you :D Until next time!


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